Fragile Clay: Shades of Grey 3:1
by Kaoru Shimitsu
Summary: The Third Season of Fragile Clay, in this episode they find that the Absence of Hiroshi has some repercussions, and that all things may not be as they seem... Last Updated in December of 2007, Merry Christmas Folks! .
1. Prelude

To Contact the author: chainedfei at gmail dot com

To Love, Hiroshi, and Faith.

May we all some day find our Truth and be complete.

-Kaoru

**Shades of Gray**

**A poem by Shimitsu Kaoru**

Mine Vision bestowed with black and white,

Mine Heart indulged in thus cruel world's stage.

Eyes unseeing judge twixt wrong and right,

Soul thus imbued polarities rage.

Thine eyes do see thus how twisted formed

That 'Truth' wherein no exception hides,

Share not the furies mankind has worn...

See truth with thine blessed inward eyes.

This, thy stage, unjustly given life

Thy soul weighed with rules and thus condemned.

Taught proudly yin and yang's bitter strife...

Never name thy passion thus a friend.

A world whence monotony didst thrive

Did bare you proudly up with open arms.

Shun the views of healthy, proper lives...

And then embrace the truth's blessed charms.

This sphere doth not run on left or right

Nor are there lines which cut thine soul in two.

Good and Evil vary in degrees,

Single sin does not to hell accrue.

Tis' not black ink writ on ghostly page

Tis' grande plethora of unique days.

Recall thy world's damned imbued rage,

For your life is marked in Shades of Gray.

**Fragile Clay: Volume the Third**

**(Shades of Grey)**

"**Refractions of the Past"**

Rain. A flash. A rolling sound that shakes the roofs of those below. The sky quilted with dark gray clouds, lightning flashing every few moments.

Beneath the rain. A small town, the rain cascading gently, falling in sheets upon the multitudinous roofs of the people inhabiting tiny houses below the clouds.

There is laughing within some of the houses. There is singing, and some are already fast asleep, escaping to a world of their own making. A world in many ways better than our own.

The icy rain outside frigid and unyielding in its relentless attack, thousands upon thousands of tiny silver javelins striking the earth, the trees.

Nerima. A place of excitement, adventure, the very word brings to mind wandering warriors, prideful samurai, and skilled Amazons. Yet all is quiet, as it has mostly been for many months now. Behind closed doors people have begun to wonder.

Where has all the magic gone? The adventure? It was once common to see a mob chasing a shriveled pervert with a dull brown satchel slung over his shoulders, the sun beating down upon the city mercilessly as martial artists demolished buildings with inhuman ease.

A week of rain. A week, and no sign of cease. Truly, in fact, it has escalated. An inch of the wet substance coated the roads; lawns were drowned out and muddy red.

Rain. A flash. The accompanied sound of thunder vibrates the roofs once more. Tea, steaming hot.

Thunder shakes the walls of the Tendou dojo, the sound of water cascading off the roof and smattering against the muddy ground, water logged trees bend and shake in the wind, droplets clinging to their leaves.

The world's colors dull, darkening in the wake of the storm. Almost black clouds boil overhead, shifting and mixing.

Rain. A flash. Two delicate hands lift the teacup, the misty steam rising from the calm brown swirling liquid as the edge of the round porcelain cup is raised, gently caressing to full red lips.

The streets are soaked, a car on the curbside, left abandoned in the downpour. Lightning flashes again, the thick layer of water on the street reflecting the light, making the road seem to glow for a brief instant.

She sniffs the tea, taking in its heady aroma. A part of her sighs within as she carefully sips it. Its warmth does not touch her soul. The others sit quietly, some watch her with great scrutiny.

Ranma's eyes stare deeply into her tea.

Rain...


	2. The Tendou House

The clack of polished wood on polished wood, the smattering of rain upon the back porch. Soun Tendou stares at the board intently; his hand upon his chin, the opposite on his hip, back slightly hunched.

Black. And White. A large panda stares at the board as well, its all too human eyes look inward as well as upon the flat board. It shivers and shakes, its bristly fur damp from the rain.

A tapping noise, a combination of dull gray buttons with numbers printed on them. Then the scratching of a pencil on the paper of a financial ledger. Nabiki replaces the pencil to its place behind her ear, her other hand brushing hair behind the opposite lobe. Looking up, her piercing analytical eyes took on a troubled sadness at the redhead staring intently into her tea.

The soft rustling of cotton fabric, and the gentle swaying of a dark yellow dress. A tray in hands, Kasumi gently sets it upon the table, the kettle now full and warm. An old kettle, with more than its share of dings and scrapes. Not all from average daily use.

Kasumi flips her ponytail over her shoulder, looking at Ranma, "Ranma-kun, would you like anything else?" She asks, sunshine and rainbows in her voice. Yet there is no smile on Kasumi's face, something that once seemed an unshakeable piece of Kasumi Tendou's soul now is quite vacant from her cheery demeanor, her melodious and motherly tones. Ever since that Day.

The sound of glass on the smooth table's surface, a soft tap as the cup of half full tea is calmly set down. Sapphire eyes look back at Kasumi, and a soft smile ushers across even softer lips, "No, Thank you Kasumi-Oneechan," the words are soft, lilted, feminine beyond a doubt. Pale skin shines with the color of peaches and cream, slightly whiter than normal from the cold rain outside. Ranma has just returned from a long walk in the rain.

Now there is a frown, Kasumi's brow furrows and her face takes on a tense look, "Ranma-kun, are you sure?" She wishes she could be more helpful, Kami Knows, She tells herself, I was not helpful when Ranma needed me. Yes, when Ranma had needed her to be firm, she was weak in the face of the storm. Shame.

A small hand... so small and delicate, it reaches out, wrapping around the handle of the kettle. It gently lifts, and with a slight tip the hot contents cascade shimmering through the air, sparkling tea seeming to dance and then sing as it collides with red hair, red hair melting into a thick midnight black as the water covers it.

Ranma sets the kettle down, standing up, "I'm sure," His words identical to the tone he used just moments before, "Scuse me," He says, bowing formally to Kasumi. Then he turns, the house slippers on his feet making a soft whispering noise as he walks upstairs.

Nabiki's eyes sting as she watches him go. Ranma, the poor caged animal, Her head slowly shakes, the hair framing her face swaying as she does so. Her mind wanders back, wondering how she could have stopped Hiroshi. She finds nothing. Or, at least, nothing she was willing to commit herself to.

"I wish there was something we could do," Kasumi now speaking in a sad manner, none of the ribbons and lollipops of her previously cheery demeanor. Her skirt ruffles as she takes a seat at the table, clasping her hands in front of her as she stares at her lap, "This must be my fault, for not getting through to him sooner about how he was acting," there is shame in the way she speaks. A deep self-grievance that Kasumi could not afford to forgive.

Soun looks at her in bafflement, his jaw moving like a codfish for a moment, "Kasumi! How could you say such a thing, my dear? It was that dreadful Hiroshi's fault, it was," There's no doubt he believes it, where it once always had to be Ranma's fault, now it must be Hiroshi's. A simple transfer of blame, where before the blame had not always been just... but then, Soun is always quick to blame, as is everyone else.

Nabiki's hands almost crush the calculator as if it were made of paper; her eyes dart up at her father, who stares back in silent confusion. "Daddy, if it is Hiroshi's fault, how about you explain to us HOW it is?" A request. A simple request, one that she is sure he won't be able to answer to.

Soun crosses his arms, thinking for a long moment, "The way I see it, if the boy had only kept his fool mouth shut, none of this would ever have happened. Ranma is not at fault for someone playing with his mind, it was dishonorable of Hiroshi to play with his best friend's heart as well!" Soun nods to himself, as if to compliment himself on his good thinking.

Without a sound, the panda sitting opposite Soun stands, looking with as much fury as the bear can muster at his once friend. Garbled growls and muffled sounds emit from the bear's mouth, anger evident in its gestures.

Soun stands quickly, ignoring the board as it topples over onto the ground sending pieces to litter the floor, the clattering of pieces mixing with the sound of rain on the roof. "Saotome! Not you as well? What of our promise? The engagement?" The sky flashes, and then the thunder shakes the walls once more.

Genma once more begins with frantic, angry actions. His wrath escalating as he waves vehemently, the noises incomprehensible yet somehow understandable.

Soun turns his back on his friend, shaking a hand, "Nonsense, Ranma is fine. He only needs some time to get his wits about him, then we can go forward with the marriage just as we'd always planned," Soun tries hard to ignore his middle daughter's piercing gaze, yet he is not entirely successful.

Genma growls once more, and then with a swift turn, tromps upstairs after his pride and joy. There is a tension in the household, ever since two weeks ago. Two weeks ago, when Miramoto Hiroshi vanished around the corner.

Vanished out of Ranma's life. The weather seeming to match Ranma's mood, seemingly confused for a full week, deciding if it should snow, remain sunny, or perhaps rain... then settling on rain finally. Rain and Rain and more Rain.

The nigh silent sliding of a door, followed by the shaking of two-bamboo umbrellas. "We're home, everyone!" Came the firm, steady voice of Nodoka Saotome. If you listen carefully, you may hear the anger underneath her casual mood, Nodoka yet another person struggling for someone to blame for the dark spiral her child continues to descend into.

The soft rustling of a school dress ushers Akane into the scene, she looks from Kasumi to Soun (Whom is silently assembling board and pieces back in their rightful place) before settling her eyes on Nabiki.

Nabiki gives a curt shake of her head, a serious look in her eyes as her hair once more sways slightly with the movement. Akane nods in response, sighing, her eyes slowly closing as her own head turns back and forth. Sadness in the gesture as her shoulders slump, her arms hanging limp... useless at her sides.

"Soun? Where has my Husband gotten to? I thought you both would have been having your usual evening game of Shogi," It is a casual question, yet there is a hint of suspicion in her words... suspicion, and perhaps accusation. Genma the coward. Genma the worm who retreats from anything threatening.

Kasumi's fingers gently caress the fabric of her dress, working wrinkles out that are mostly nonexistent, "Father and Mister Saotome had a short argument, I'm afraid, Aunt Nodoka," Kasumi lowers her eyes to the tea kettle, fixating her gaze on a small drop of liquid that seemed to be trying to decide whether to fall, or remain at the tip of the kettle's spout.

An impregnable stare is cast upon Soun, "Is this true, Soun? Has my Husband been having choice words with you?" A pity, she thought, that recent events would be the only thing to actually make Genma grow a spine of any sorts. Nodoka frowns, forcing herself to stop twisting her wedding ring in that almost habitual manner.

Soun, seeming as if reprimanded, bows his head in a nod. His mouth opening to speak, yet before he can utter a single word, Akane's voice is heard.

"Auntie, is that really important?" Akane asked, taking a seat across from Nabiki. Her hands firmly yet carefully folded in her lap, her back a little stiffer than usual. Perhaps less in anger and more in tension.

Your anger was always your one flaw, Akane... always... She muses sadly to herself, an anger that burns so hot can sometimes burn the wielder far beyond repair. Her perfect dream, Ranma the shining hero, her the fragile heroine, all shattered in a moment of her uncontrollable rage.

A sidelong glance, an arched brow as Nodoka considers Akane, "Are you saying you would condone Genma's support of Ranma's confusion?? Ranma doesn't need time, he needs discipline to understand the choice he must make in the end, Akane... a choice that I PRAY will involve you deeply," Her words are sharp, crisp, clear in gesticulation.

"But what if we're wrong, Auntie??? Maybe Ranma needs time to heal, instead of being pushed by everyone around him," Akane's words are thick with unease; her thinking had been much the same, in that regrettable moment of anger.

"Akane, my daughter, don't tell me that you actually agree with Saotome?? Surely you want to marry Ranma, do you not?" Soun asks, suddenly very close to Akane, and very intent on her answer.

Akane shakes her head, tears brimming in her eyes... Hot and burning in her eyes, "No! I... I mean... yes, yes, But I love him, Auntie, I Love him with all of my heart! Doesn't that mean I have a say in anything? Doesn't that mean that you should, maybe, just consider what Ranma needs instead of what we all need?"

Nodoka's eyes gaze firmly upon Akane, noting the girl's confused discomfort, noting how on edge Akane is. Akane hasn't known what to think since that singular dreadful act of violence that brought about harsh revelation.

A short bark of a laugh, filled full to the brim with bitter bile, "Isn't that what we've ALWAYS done, Akane? Isn't that what made Hiroshi so special?" Nabiki frowns, suddenly very serious again, "You think we can hope to replace that?? You've got to be kidding, Sis," Nabiki's heart aches as she notices the crestfallen expression on Akane's face. Her heart leaps again, in agonizing pain, when she hears Akane begin sobbing into her hand... then into both hands.

Nabiki shows no hint of remorse, her face remaining aloof and smug... her emotions carefully hidden beneath a facade of nonchalantness. Inside she is seething, boiling with self-doubt and anger at her own uselessness, her own ignorance that should have seen what was happening with Hiroshi the moment it started.

"Nabiki, dear, that is quite enough," Nodoka speaks gently, yet there is nothing gentle about the calm manner in which her words are spoken. "Yes, Akane, your opinion does matter. The only problem is, honor demands this wedding go forth. Whether or not Ranma has more time, I sincerely doubt that my son will get over these feelings; so more time, less time, I do not think it matters much. The wedding will take place sooner or later... but it will take place, Akane."

For a moment all is silent; the sound of rain upon the roof, smattering outside, and the sound of the koi in the pond leaping, only to descend once more into the depths.

Akane's sobbing ceases, yet her demeanor says that at any moment she could totter once more over the edge. "I don't want to marry him like this, Auntie!! It- It would feel like a lie! Like there wasn't any love between us. He- he could start to hate me. I don't want that to happen!" A flash of her mother's face, smiling, happy... that is what she wants, she wants that happiness for herself. She is half afraid she might never know it, since Hiroshi...

Nodoka's eyes glimmer faintly, her lips tight as she speaks, "Akane, to my sadness, I must say that honor about these things overrules what is best for Ranma... promises are promises. Think of it this way, Japanese women have been lying to themselves in marriages for thousands of years, and it hasn't stopped us yet," The soft rustling is heard as Nodoka sits at the head of the dining table, Soun taking a seat opposite of her.

"What about happiness??" Akane asks, her voice full of confused venom, her mind wondering if perhaps her trust in Nodoka's kindness was misplaced.

Nodoka gently runs her hands synchronously across the edge of the table, touching the corners with her thumbs, "Akane, I pray nightly that this decision had been made out of love, and my Husband, Soun, as well as myself have been very patient in the hopes that this decision WOULD be made out of love. The promise was made out of convenience, to carry on the school... it deeply hurts me that such things could have happened to separate the two of you, but this pairing was made long before either of you were old enough to consent."

Akane's head fell; her shoulder's slumping. "I see, so we really have no choice, we'll get married when you want whether we like it or not, whether one of us suffers for it for the rest of our lives or not," Akane shakes her head, half in confusion, half in shame that is full of guilt and pain.

In her mind, an image of Ranma's face... tears upon her cheeks, as the hand flies back. Then a bright cracking noise and a flash of pain that leaves spots of bright colors dancing in her vision, and a throbbing ache in her swollen cheek. Then her heartbeat, Ranma looking at her horrified as she touches her cheek... feeling warm wetness far redder than tears.

"I've come to the conclusion that you and your husband are both out of your goddamn minds, 'Auntie'," Her tone is Saccharine sweet as she speaks, pouring herself some tea in a casual gesture. Nabiki looks up at Nodoka, "Pretty sure," added seemingly half in thought as she sips.

At her words, Nodoka's body grows rigid with tension, "I am a traditional Japanese woman, Nabiki. You would do well to note that giri still runs thick in Japan's blood, and Honor is as strong nowadays as it was 300 years ago, before the English came," Her words come smooth as ice, and much colder, laced with deadly venom.

Her patience is quickly waning, Nabiki's diehard attitude not something she was used to from anyone. Ever.

"You don't scare me, Nodoka," Nabiki replies, in an exact replica of the venom laced ice Nodoka had used, giving the effect of laughter at Nodoka's unspoken threat. The most casual and intense mockery Nabiki was best known for.

Nodoka's hands shook as she clenched them tightly, attempting to control her rising anger at the middle Tendou girl, "Is that so, Nabiki? That is disrespectful of a Japanese woman, talking down to her elders like you always seem to do," Nodoka suddenly biting her lip as one of her fingernails cuts deeper into her palms, a trickle of blood coloring her fingertip.

Nabiki's smile shines as bright as the break of dawn upon the shores of Nihon. A jester's smile... A trickster's beguiling grin. Speaking to the viewer as if to say 'I know more than you ever will'. "Well, let me see," Her words dripped with sugar, "I don't rightly give a damn, Mizz Scarlet. You don't see me bustling about in a kimono bowing and nodding and scraping, so here's to the empire," Nabiki grinned brighter still, as she hefted the cup of tea, then tossed it back like a shot of Whiskey.

"I will not tolerate you speaking down to me, little girl!" Nodoka's whole body begins shaking with her half controlled rage, never in her life has anyone spoken to her in that manner, in such an arrogant, self-assured, fearless manner.

"Nabiki! What has gotten into you young lady! Apologize right now!" Soun's shame and embarrassment from Nabiki's words and actions were beginning to show plainly in his disposition.

Nabiki laughs, placing a hand on her mouth to keep from laughing too hard, "I'm afraid not daddy, in my case 'Aunty', I will have to say screw tradition. Oh, And Daddy, if you want to contest my independence, I seem to remember you owe me back pay from the last three loans," the blood drains from Soun's face at the mention of the borrowed money, and suddenly he is studiously examining the table.

Nodoka gapes in astonishment and anger, "Soun! Don't tell me you are afraid of your own DAUGHTER!?" She's never seen such a thing, a grown man fearing his own flesh and blood, his own little girl. Preposterous!

Kasumi sighs, her head lowering as she shakes her dark brown tresses, "Auntie, Nabiki has a lot of clout with the businesses around here, and when Daddy has needed the money... well... Nabiki hasn't asked for it back before, not from family," Her voice is thick with embarrassment, her cheeks red with a heavy blush.

"If you THINK that I will condone your course of action, Mizz Nodoka, you do not know Nabiki Tendou," Suddenly Nabiki is rising, as if looming, her shadow falling over Nodoka with no room for interpretation of her menace. "I am the one girl you don't want to mess with, 'Aunty', why do you think they call me the Ice Bitch?" A sadistic smile, a cold and venomous edge to her words.

Nodoka's resolve, for a single moment, falters, and she shies back from a girl many years younger than herself, then the steel edge of her fiery soul once more bears itself, "I am Ranma's Mother, Nabiki, and you will not stop this arrangement. It is out of your hands, and it was never in your hands to begin with young lady," Her eyes hold strong the fire that is within her soul, a warrior woman's spirit which shall never let go of her ideals, even in the labor of her last dying breath.

Yet, once more she is shaken as Nabiki straightens to her full standing height, a wry grin on her face, "Who said anything about trying to stop you, Nodoka?" A swift spin of her heels, her back turning to the elder Saotome woman. A cocky look back over her shoulders.

"You push it, and you will get what is coming to you. Do what you will, but I can make sure you'll regret any... rash decisions," Not a threat, simply a state of fact as Nabiki turns, gliding upstairs with a calm grace.

Nodoka stares after her, anger and bile seething in her mind, a girl. A GIRL has the audacity to threaten her!? She silently promises that she will NOT let Nabiki push her around, as she seems to think she can easily do.

Akane stares after her sister as well. There is much love in that gaze, a silent thank-you being said inside Akane's heart. She has no concept of why Nabiki would wish to help Ranma, but all the same she is thankful for it.

Silently, she adds another almost reluctant prayer. Hiroshi... come back safely.


	3. A Rainy Day at Ucchan's

Rain pours gently down the glass windowpanes, some soft Japanese pop music drifting lazily over the air. An occasional car moves sluggishly by on the road outside.

The scents of freshly diced vegetables, squid, batter... the sound of the grill sizzling, and the smell of fresh okonomiyaki assaults her senses.

There are only a few customers. An old man in dirty working clothes wearing a straw hat. A round lady in a floral print dress, her cheeks rosy with a bright smile, a small boy in a yellow raincoat with her... quietly humming a made up song as he pokes at his food.

Kuonji Ukyou flips the newly cooked okonomiyaki onto a plate, sliding it onto the counter to the more recent customer; a friend from school, his hair black and somewhat unkempt. A solemn mood surrounds him, something quite unfamiliar to Nakano Daisuke's usual demeanor.

Ukyou's hands shake as she sets the cooking spatula down; she rubs them together as if they are cold. She turns, looking back at Daisuke as the boy sips his plain black coffee, making some personal notes on a book full of numbers.

"Studying for the test?" She knows it's not the question she would rather ask, the question that had been bothering her again and again for the past week and a half. Still, it was a more appropriate question.

Daisuke looks up, the small wire-brimmed glasses hanging on the tip of his nose, "Nah. Just a little personal stuff, you know I'm always fiddling with ideas," He smiles then, halfheartedly to be sure, yet it is a smile that is mildly arrogant. Condescending with a reason.

Thunder booms outside, the wind picking up lightly. Icy Rain bombarding the street mercilessly, as it had for the past week.

She casts her eyes about the shop, noting that not very many people are here, all of her customers looking much warmer than they would be if they were outside. Not much chance of more coming in this kind of weather.

She sighs, then, deciding to take a short break from the more than slow day. Pulling out the oft-unused stool she keeps behind the counter, Ukyou takes a seat opposite Daisuke. "Still haven't talked to him, have you?" A question she had been mulling over, turning again and again in her mind.

"Nope. Well, not really, I mean. I've spoken to him numerous times in the past week, the problem is- well.. The conversations keep getting shorter. He's even started paying some form of attention in class, just so the Teacher doesn't call his name and draw attention to him," Daisuke stabs at a piece of his dinner, shoveling it into his mouth as his pen continues scratching on the paper of the notebook.

Ukyou fidgets, scratching at a rough part of the counter and idly thinking she should get something to scrub it off. "You don't- I mean, do you think he's okay? I... I heard about what happened from Akane, and it's all over the school, lots of rumors-"

Daisuke looks up suddenly, "Most of them are false, Ukyou... I am sure. Ranma isn't- Well, he isn't as bad as some of the rumors say he is. None of this is his fault," There is a vengeance in the way he speaks, as if his own reputation were at stake. Always the one to take offense at the smallest of statements.

Ukyou shakes her head; her brown hair shifting around her delicately framed face, "I just- I can't believe it. Hiroshi... I guess thinking about it now makes sense, well, as much sense as ANYTHING involving Ranma can," Deep green eyes dance with a heavy sadness as Ukyou forces a half-joking smile onto her lips.

"Yeah, well, believe it. I should've seen it sooner, the way it was going. To my own credit... I have to say that Hiroshi has good taste, even though it was a bad choice," Another bit of Okonomiyaki disappears into the depths of Daisuke's mouth as he turns the page, and resumes his writing.

Ukyou feels a slight anger build within her, "How could you say such a thing?! Ranchan is a wonderful person to fall in love with!" The man she loves, the man she has loved for a long time, the man she defends when people make comments like Daisuke.

Daisuke makes an odd, almost chortling laugh in his throat, pushing his wire-framed glasses up to sit on his forehead, "Only if you're Akane, Ukyou... and I'll be damned if Hiroshi doesn't love Ranma to death. Whole heart and all that stuff, they seem great together. Well, until the truth came out, of course," His eyes look down at the equations, numbers, and variables. Cold hard logic, perhaps he is being too disassociated with the entire situation, he wonders.

The door swings suddenly open, and from its frame two figures walk slowly in. Both wear matching raincoats, the colors contrasting yet complimenting, slick and shiny, wet. "Hey, Ukyou!" The voice of Sayuri, a voice full of calm and compassion in a troubled moment.

Yuka must be the other Kuonji deduces, as the two girls shake out their umbrella's before turning and walking up to the counter.

The false demeanor of cheeriness once more clouds Ukyou's face and stance, "The usual, girls?" having regular customers always made it easier to guess what they might want.

Yuka hops up into her usual seat, carefully looking over Ukyou's face before speaking, "Sure thing, Ukyou-Chan, and you don't have to act the part for us. We've all been a little down since Romeo left Ranma," Yuka quickly runs her hands through her hair to make sure it is dry.

Ukyou mutters a silent curse in her mind. Having usual customers also meant they could usually see through your half-baked facades.

Ukyou's brow furrows in worry, her cheery demeanor falling away like rotted parchment, "Is my worry really that obvious, Girls??" She occupies herself, trying to take her mind off of Ranma by mixing the batter, concentrating on what she does best. Make Okonomiyaki.

"Hon, it's not that it's obvious, it's just we all know how you feel. Both about Hiroshi and about Ranma, so it's just natural that you be worried," Sayuri smiles, attempting to reassure Ukyou. A moment later, she turns her smile on Daisuke, turning up the intensity of her smile to a warm greeting.

Daisuke grins back, winking and adding a chuckle, "Nice to see you two are enjoying our fine Nerima weather," flipping his notebook gently closed, he looks back at the two girls, watching as Yuka fixes Sayuri's hair up into a ponytail.

A groan, then a roll of Sayuri's eyes, "Oh yeah, right, the beautiful Nerima weather. I wonder what they write on the travel brochures for a trip to Nerima? 'Have fun in the sun, then the rain, then the sun... All in a single day'? Why can't it just snow already... this freezing rain is horrid," Yuka nods her assent to her friends comment.

"Ohmygosh...he- he Loves him, doesn't he?" Ukyou turns suddenly, looking straight at Daisuke with a shocked look on her face.

Daisuke blinks, scratching the back of his head in confusion, "Sorry. Uhm, lost the train of your thought, explain please?" Sayuri giggles at the end of his odd comment, and he flashes her a quick smile.

Leaning against the counter, Ukyou looks intently at Daisuke, "Ranchan... He... he couldn't possibly- I mean, he's not that way is he??"

The two girls suddenly exchange glances, and then return their twin gazes to Ukyou. There is a healthy level of worry, as well as the guarding look that is often associated with the reluctant answers people tend to avoid.

Daisuke laughs, nervously, "Well, I wouldn't know! I wasn't around them when they were being buddy buddy... urr, I mean really pal-like, uhh... You know what I mean!!" His hands fly up in an exasperated manner, his brow furrowing in an almost insulted scowl.

The chef suddenly grabs Daisuke by the lapel, shaking him, "What do you MEAN you don't know!? You're Hiroshi's best friend! You've GOT to know!!!!" Her anger is none too level, her voice a bit too high for even her own liking. Stinging tears, how she hates the stinging tears.

Daisuke laughs a nervous, hesitant laugh, his hands assuming the sign of warding off demons as Ukyou's anger and frustration wash over him for a brief moment.

Yuka's hand touched Ukyou's. Flesh to flesh, warm and gentle. "Ukyou-Chan," She admonishes.

Sayuri's hand finds its way to Ukyou's shoulder; gently squeezing it with calm, yet insistent force, "It is not Daisuke's fault," Her words are as smoke upon the wind, soft and almost unreal.

A moment passes, as Ukyou's hand tightens on Daisuke's shirt... The straining of cotton heard for a brief moment before her hand suddenly slackens.

Ukyou sways a moment, almost falling as she leans on the counter. A moment later, she finds a pair of arms around her, helping to hold her up. So weak, her mind notes silently as she trembles lightly.

"He does Love Hiroshi, Sayuri and I know at least that much," Yuka's hands grip her outfit, her eyes looking inward for a brief moment as she recalls the vision of Ranma, speaking so proudly and eloquently of Hiroshi. Ranma's Love.

Ukyou's eyes rise, confusion and disorientation still evident in them, "Wh- why? How do you know??" She absently wonders why she feels half-devoured inside, as if she was an egg that had been cracked open and emptied violently.

"Ranma said stuff at Akane's sleepover that was pretty obvious to everyone but her and Akane," Sayuri's hand gently strokes Ukyou's back, and for a moment, the chef feels as if she was with her mother again. With her mother as a small child.

A gentle drumming of fingertips as Daisuke rubs his chin. "Why is it I am always the last to know about these things??" An almost half annoyed expression twists itself across his face, almost as if he swallowed a very bitter lemon.

A giggle, and Yuka shakes her head, "You're always too busy with other stuff, 'Suke-kun. What, did you think everyone was purposely hiding everything from you?"

Suddenly, Daisuke hops off of the stool, pulling on his hair in an over exaggerated mock-panicked expression. His eyes dart around with intense uncertainly. "I knew it! I knew it all along!! You're all conspiring against me, the Aliens sent you!!!" He looks up, grasping clumps of his hair as he laughs maniacally.

Yuka mocks a Yawn, while Sayuri only rolls her eyes as she takes her seat again. "If we were sent by the aliens to conspire against you, they must be pretty pathetic aliens to need YOU for anything..." Yuka smirks, leaning against the counter as she watches Daisuke's overzealous seeking of attention.

Ukyou promises herself that she will NOT smile. She tells herself there is far too much to worry about, and that she doesn't deserve to smile until it's all untangled from the mess it seems to have degraded into.

"Hey! Whatchit now. You know I'm a certified Genius; I have cards... and pieces of paper that say so!!! Don't make me have to... Urrr... Do... Genius... Type... stuff. I'll... I'll... I'll program my calculator on you!!!!" He jabs a threatening finger in a pointing motion at Yuka.

Ukyou's mouth twitches, she bites her lip firmly. I will NOT laugh. No matter how funny it seems. Her thoughts drift far from the topic of her angst for but a brief moment, before she snatches them back. Tightly, she wraps them, around her soul. There is no time for laughter, her Ranchan's heart has been broken and he needs her more than ever.

With little ceremony or smile, she slides the newly finished okonomiyaki in front of Yuka, then Sayuri. Her grim facade is not an unnoticed presence to her guests.

"Ukyou-Chan, sometimes you can spoil a person's mood," Yuka's tone is one thick with worry, and more than a little annoyance. Her hands drifted, as if of their own free will, poking and prodding the okonomiyaki without any intention of removing a piece.

A ruffling of coarse cotton, Daisuke folding his arms as he shakes his head solemnly, that midnight mane of black hair swaying in its unkempt manner, "Ucchan, If you are so worried about him, why not go over there and talk to the king of all baka's?"

Whispering as light as rose petals, Sayuri softly murmuring pleasant feelings into Yuka's ear while stroking her back in a loving manner. Yuka herself nodding to the soft encouragement her best friend provides.

She blames herself, at most for not informing Akane of the blatant truth that the young Tendou girl was completely ignoring. Yuka called herself Akane's friend, yet proceeded to allow Akane's fiancée to fall deeper in love with a man of all things.

The shuffle of feet as the exit bell rings. A raised Eyebrow. Daisuke considers the two girls next to him, meditating on the inseparable duo. "You two blab on about how oblivious Akane was about Ranma... you are so hypocritical. I wish you two would just come out and admit it," His voice echoes with barely guarded contempt, as if, once more, they were trying to pull a fast one on him.

Blink. Blink. They both gaze up suddenly, two pairs of brown eyes matching Daisuke's glare.

"What the heck are you talking about, Daisuke??" Profound confusion, dancing in her words. Yuka apparently had missed something, at least she thought so.

A loud groan, a slap as his hand connects firmly with the flesh of his forehead. He waves a hand in a banishing gesture, swiftly abating Sayuri from speaking the similar question she had just prepared, "Forget it," A quick dismissal.

"Do you really think I should?? I wouldn't want to Intrude," Unsure, wavering... she asks. She finds herself caressing the white bow in her hair, for some reason finding it important to make sure it is well.

Daisuke and Sayuri jump, having forgotten the presence of the 4th party. "Pardon?" The boy genius inquires, having lost his easily escapable train of thought.

A sip, warm and fluid, as Yuka tests the tea that comes with the meal. "Assuredly, Ukyou-Chan, I should probably tell you this though. Be there for him as a friend, you want to bury him go on with that fiancée stuff. It's not what he needs right now. Men are very frail when it comes to relationships of actual love," A swift cut, and gently she lifts a small portion of the okonomiyaki to her lips, deftly sliding it in as she chews vigorously.

A soft, diagonal shaking of her head, Sayuri's pony tail brushing the nape of her neck. "Ranma... Is so broken lately. I- Well... I never felt much for him until I met her... that part that Ranma hides from everyone," She chews her lip, looking almost ready to cry, "Maybe that's why Ranma fell for Hiroshi... because Hiroshi brought that out in him, that needing, that longing, that feminine dependency on someone stronger in many ways."

Even Daisuke's disposition became sullen, "Ranma always lacked emotional strength, and in a lot of ways spiritual. He always depended on his own arrogance and cockiness, in ignorance of the things life could really offer," A bitter, bile-filled laugh, "But then, most people don't realize what they're missing. Not everyone can be Hiroshi," A sigh threatens escape, one that he unceremoniously shoves back down into it's box. Still, his face was far less cheerful than it had been.

"Nobody can be Hiroshi," Sayuri adds in a misty tone.

For several minutes, they eat silently, staring in thought at their food, their minds elsewhere.

She should chastise them, Ukyou thinks; chastise them for speaking so badly of her Ranchan. For some reason, she cannot find the strength to harm their moods, which are so full of rain and cloudiness.

She resolves, with much finality, to visit Ranma after work.

"This is quite good, Ukyou-Chan," It was an unneeded comment, one spent to break the uneasy stalemate the conversation seemed to have degraded into, Yuka realized this... the clue being from her reluctance to glance up from her plate.

Rain. And a smile. It was something he would have said... if things had been the same.

It just isn't the same anymore.

A smile nonetheless, as she thinks of better times. Times without Rain.

"Yes. I know..." Ukyou smiles, but can't seem to wash the tears from her soul.


	4. Alone with Thoughts

Soft. As if it were fragile, he caresses the picture sitting in his lap; prominent is the feeling of everything inside him somehow shucked from his skin, leaving him a hollow shell.

Gently he traces the outline of the man's jaw in the picture... letting his fingertips drift slowly across his eyebrow, touching his lips with the tip of a single finger as a shiver runs through him. The emotions leave him raw and drained, wave upon wave crash into his heart with unyielding ferocity.

Only a picture, Disappointment shows in his posture, in how weary and tired his eyes look. You would think he had thought it was the person, for a brief moment. A moment in time, where everything once more seemed happy... the figure laughed, and hugged him close. Closer than a friend should.

The picture of Hiroshi is a good one... one of him smiling. Unfortunately, it is also one that makes him seem so dreadfully alone. The same picture taken the day Cologne vanished. His eyes seem to dig into Ranma's soul, making the guilt feel ever worse. Eyes that see exactly what is there, something Ranma is unsure that he can ignore.

"I can't do anything, you know that. They won't let me... I don't know if it would work anyways. We're... we're both guys, you know??? I mean... I don't think you'd do that for me, and I wouldn't feel... Comfortable at all... why would you fall in love with stupid me??? I am just... trouble. Ask anyone... they'll tell you," He's only trouble, he tells himself. He's hurt, somehow, everyone who's ever loved him...

He is a shameful disappointment to his father, a constant wound against his Mother's happiness, a stupid stupid boy to Akane... everyone he disappointed. He's never too smart for Nabiki, never too modest for Kasumi...

Clutching the picture to himself he fights back the tears. I AM A MAN. A MAN, I can say that, because it's true! I'm a MAN! A soft chanting as he rocks back and forth, the ache in his heart only growing worse.

Ranma shivers, and opens his blue eyes... he hears laughter, soft, musical, pure as distilled sunshine.

_She blinks her eyes open, the brightness of the colors seeming so much more real than the world she left. She was somewhere else a moment ago... it was dark, and there was a picture..._

_"My Love!" His voice! Oh, so handsome and strong... his voice, that voice so full of sunshine and wind. She giggles lightly as she looks up at him, smoothing her skirt._

_"Yes, Hiro-Chan???" His blush is so deep... her affection always did make him blush. She looks at him, standing only a few yards away; the grassy hill around them topped with only a few trees, the breeze ruffling the leaves in a lazy manner._

_He opens his arms, "C'mon... the others are waiting, can't very well have a picnic without the guest of honor, ne???"_

_He smiles so shyly He always did when she kept her hair down. Kami, how I love him,_

_She waves at him as she stands, smoothing her blue and white dress, "I'm coming, I'm coming! keep your pants on!!!"_

_That grin, just out of the side of his mouth, his eyes squinting as he holds his hand out..._

_She reaches out to take it..._

"Ranma?" The voice is wary as it speaks, a masculine voice, deep in timbre and thick in old strength, like an oak.

_She laughs as he takes her into his arms, as he nuzzles her neck with kisses, "My my, very fresh today aren't we hentai-chan???"_

_He chortles, bringing his head up and pressing it against her forehead, his eyes looking into hers. "You are so beautiful, you know... a man could just die," His arms draping lovingly around her waist._

_A mischievous grin from her as she cocks her head to one side, "That can be arranged, Hentai-Chan... I thought you said the others were waiting???"_

_A blush colors his cheek as he smiles broadly, a slight mischievous wink, "They can wait"_

_"Oh, Stop!" She kicks him hard, pushing him away as he yelps in pain. "Honestly... I'm not some sex toy!"_

Genma's face becomes melancholic as he frowns, shaking his son, "Ranma... Ranma, look at me boy!"

Ranma's eyes are distant, his face slack, his arms clutching the picture to his chest.

_"Do you think that we could take a trip, my love???" His eyes are so soft, glimmering beautifully in the summer sunlight. It almost causes her to melt thoroughly on the inside._

_Teasingly, she tugs on some of his bangs, brushing them aside, "Gee... I dunno... a training trip???"_

_That laugh, that laugh so full of life, overflowing and abundant, that laugh she so dearly loves, "Of course! Of course... anything you want, Beloved," A soft stroke of her hair with his hand, a gentle kiss on her forehead._

_A shy, but almost coy grin as she turns away from him, her back against his chest... "Anything, M'lord???"_

_He shakes a finger in admonishing, "Now now... do I have to chastise YOU this time???"_

_That soft, all too girlish giggle ushering from her own lips. "Mmmmm, maybe..."_

_He starts gently to tug her away, "C'mon... the others are waiting for us..."_

"Ranma!!! Please, boy! Wake up!" Genma's strong, deep, resonating voice now wavers with fear, his boy just STARING off at nothing, as if he'd finally gone over the edge!!!

Ranma's eyes take on a concerned look, the only change in the past several minutes.

_"I don't know, Hiro-Chan..." There was something she was forgetting, a room, with blinds. It seemed familiar, as if from a memory. There was a picture she was holding._

_He frowns, looking at her cautiously, "Is something wrong, My Love??" His singsong voice thick with concern for her well-being._

_She looks back, her head suddenly aching... she was somewhere else a few moments ago... a... a room, back in the Tendou Dojo???_

_"Ranma???" Hiroshi's voice is now inquiring, wondering what could be troubling his beautiful bride._

SNAP

"Ranma!!! RANMA!" Genma sees that Ranma is slowly rising out of the strange stupor he had been in, the Saotome Father suddenly realizing how terribly frightened he suddenly is at the possibility of losing what was left of his child.

Blink. Blink. Ranma's eyes slowly begin to focus as it thunders again outside, threatening yet again to burst forth in a maelstrom of water. "…pop…what…?"

The embrace almost crushes the wind out of Ranma, his Father's strong arms wrapping around him. He wasn't sure, but he thought Genma was shaking.

"Oh Ranma, don't... Don't do that to your Father again, boy!!!" Genma feels relief flood into him, and wonders at why his face is suddenly wet.

Ranma blinks in mute shock, then suddenly realizes that it was just a daydream... his body slumping into his Father's arms as he sighs deeply, "Dad... I... I've got a problem..."

"Dad??? What happened to Pop???" Genma wipes his eyes quickly with his sleeve, then holds his son at arms length.

Ranma's eyes are haunted with grief that Genma only recalled seeing in Soun's eyes when he had lost his wife. The boy seemed drained, completely sucked dry of any joyful life, as if there had been nothing before Hiroshi.

Sitting in the meager lighting that the candles provide for the room, Genma opens a part of his heart he long kept guarded so that he can listen for once... truly listen to what his boy tells him.

"I think I love him, and I don't know what to do. I- I know what you and mom want, and- and- and I'm... I'm willing to- ya know," Ranma turns his face away from Genma, hiding the tears that suddenly begin escaping. "It's- honor and all... and you made a promise... And- And-,"

"Ranma," Genma's voice is stern as iron, sharp as steel. His boy was grieving for love... love. Something he once had with Nodoka, something that seems now faded and lost, Nodoka a whole other woman. A woman not too unlike the man he had been acting like. The man he had been to his child.

That horrid, cruel man.

There is no rain outside, the battle between earth and sky having halted for a brief moment.

Ranma looks up, his eyes haggard and lost. He looks at his Father, whose eyes are almost sad. Something he's never really seen before... not true sadness like this, in any case.

"I love you, my son," Five words. Genma wants to say more, years of admonishing leaping to the tip of his tongue, but he clamps his mouth shut. He always spoiled those words before... using them to start a firm lecture of Ranma's weakness.

"And-?" Ranma wearily waits to hear all of the rest... everything he's heard a thousand times before, his heart sinking into his stomach as he realizes just how horrid his father truly is. Soun and Mother probably sent him up here...

There is a tense moment of silence; Genma hangs his head as he realizes that Ranma might not be able to trust him anymore. Him of all people. Ranma, coincidentally, wondering what it is that Genma gets out of this sick, sick endeavor.

Slowly, Genma begins to put words to his feelings, "Ranma, I love you. I have been a useless, hurtful monster... doing you more harm than good in your life. You've come to hate me, the coward and thief that I am... but... I love you, because you are my child and I can do nothing else."

"Father?" This is new, and shocking to Ranma. His father seems to be speaking with feeling, from his heart. He doesn't know if he should believe Genma, the man who has more often than not acted his way out of scrapes.

Genma's hands tighten their grip on his son's arms, his fierce eyes burning into Ranma's, "Do you love him, Ranma?" The question is flat, straight, a demand for truth with no quarter for lies.

Flash. Boom. The sky threatens once more to proceed with its bombardment of Tokyo. The crisp smell of rain is thick in the air as the koi fish leaps towards the sky, only to arc back down into the icy depths of the pond.

Ranma slowly begins to shake his head. Then a broken look shows in his eyes, and his face contorts in heavy emotion... a short, curt nod. He feels so weak, suddenly... as if his much talked about strength decided to take a vacation. His heart beats feebly, it seems.

"I- I know. I'm weak- I'm weak and- and... It's just not right," Ranma feels tears running down his cheeks. Damn him and his fool heart! That he would be crying like some stupid girl. He's NOT a girl, he is a man!

Shock, the ruffling of a gi as silk shirt meets with it's fabric, arms like branches of an oak tree pulling tight around Ranma's body.

Genma's deep baritone speaks as if it were silk in the wind, "Ranma... my child. You are the strongest person I've ever known, that I may ever know," Genma shakes in the embrace, as if he was freezing.

Blink. Blink. For a long moment Ranma feels like a stuffed practice dummy. Then, quite suddenly, Ranma finds the strength to do one thing. And with that, he wraps his arms around his father. HIS Father... someone he strangely never thought he could be proud of. Someone he never thought would be the one he needed.

"Don't dare make a decision now, Ranma... I- I support you and Hiroshi, if it must come to that, but I beg you as your father that... that... you don't decide right now. I will do all I can to make sure you have some time. I am sorry for all the things I've done wrong, but by Kami I will do THIS right," His voice is fierce, and strong. It was a vow he was making, a vow that he would not soon break. A vow that, perhaps, had a wager of his soul on the paper.

Ranma felt despair set in once more... the weakness washing over him as the devoured feeling returned. How could he make a choice, when he would disappoint someone either way??? It was too much. How could he choose to be with Akane... when he had trouble LIVING without Hiroshi???

"I love you, Father," It was said in a weary, battered tone of voice, but it was nonetheless true. It made Genma weep... something Ranma rarely remembered, at least the sort of weeping that required sincere tears.

For a brief moment, by the candlelight, a child's faith was once more restored. Perhaps it was a new beginning for both of them... a chance to heal the wounds...


	5. Trouble in the Amazon

Balance. Focus. Discipline. Kick low, then spin, snap the leg out and kick high. Letting the momentum carry her into a flip... adept skill from hundreds of years allowing her to find her footing once more. 300 feet down is a long way.

The winds whip by with harsh ferocity... 50 miles per hour. It takes concentration, ki, and balance to keep the footing on the narrow bridge across the chasm. Always balance, both internal and external.

Khu-Lon, matriarch of the Niie Chiiezu, warrior who has lived a good long while. Strength, vigor, vitality flow through her now... the thrill of life in its most pure state. THE ART.

She feels her ki flowing through her, thrilling her with the tingling anticipation, with every scent and sensation of the world. With a flurry of lightning fast gestures she begins a kata she hasn't been able to finish since her bones became older, more frail.

The Art fills her to overflowing, her heart bursting with joy and life, she finds herself weeping from the beauty of the feeling! It is a drug that overwhelms the senses, sharpens the vision, and heightens the hearing... unifies the artist with the world.

Patiently, Ming-Mei watches her. She leans against one of the large rocks that adorn either end of the bridge, watching Elder Khu-Lon as she practices.

It has been weeks since Khu-Lon entered the village, demanding to meet with the other Elders. At first, she had been attacked, since the village did not recognize her. It had been swiftly proven that she was clearly who she claimed to be.

Khu-Lon pauses in mid movement, causing Ming-Mei to blink. She turns, looking into the wind, her eyes narrowing as she seems to listen to something. Perhaps there was a voice... as soft as the wind itself... Ming-Mei thought she could hear it.

The voice of a goddess??? There was something about it that gave Ming-Mei the shivers. Khu-Lon simply nodded in understanding. "Ming-Mei," Her voice is sweet, almost sultry... but with an edge of steel that seems to taunt one to underestimate her.

"Yes, Elder Khu-Lon?" The girl ran a hand through her Paige-boy, plum colored hair. Her forest green eyes very alert all of a sudden.

Khu-Lon smiled a secret, almost mischievous smile, "I will meet you... at the bottom," and with the ever so gentle push, she spread her arms in a backward flip... Right off the edge of the bridge.

Ming-Mei's eyes widen in shock as she runs forward, the wind suddenly buffeting her, attempting to reach her elder before it is too late, knowing already she is moments past any hope.

Staring down, she gapes in horror as the figure of Khu-Lon plummets for several moments, and then a small, but immensely bright, flash momentarily blinds her eyes.

Staring down at the scorched bit of earth, she swears she can make out a small human-shaped figure walking... Turning, she makes haste to descend the rather steep, rocky hill. Jumping, dodging, leaping, she catches up to the figure a good 15 minutes later.

Khu-Lon smirks, a small upturning at the corner of her mouth. She absently fastens her golden hair back into a ponytail. "Child, you take far too long to catch up, but then I guess the young ones nowadays are a bit lazy," Her smirk turns into an obvious smile as she hears Ming-Mei cursing under her breath.

"Pardon Ming-Mei, Elder Khu-Lon, She mean not insult you by take too long," The words were almost spat out, in far less than perfect Japanese. It would appear Ming-Mei was not too happy at having her companion almost leap to her death.

A bright, piercing sound ushers forth from Khu-Lon's lips, "Oh Child, did you think I would actually kill myself after living for so long? Would be an awful waste of my years, if you ask me," The soft, musical noise of her laughter once more escapes her silken lips.

"What for you jump off, then?" Ming-Mei draws her sword, cautiously taking up a defensive stance as she glances around, her piercing gaze taking in the brush, the trees, and the hills. A trained Amazon warrior is always aware of her surroundings, and any threats that it may conceal.

A short smile, a pale eyebrow raised, then words that come as smooth as the wind, "In the days when I was young, well, when I was young for the first time... the world was a harsh and unyielding place, threats abounded everywhere. You could never be too careful, and a faked death could always come in handy," She pauses, watching Ming-Mei. The girl is intent upon her words.

Now there is a smile, happy that the girl is finally listening, Khu-Lon continues her explanation, "We also had to deal with death daily, fallen companions, deadly enemies. In order to handle death, we had to court death. Look it in the face and smile. In order to court death, we had to be prepared at any moment to die without fear... that was when many of the desperation tactics and special attacks came about," Khu-Lon recalls several instances where it had been necessary to stage her own death, one including a rather large group of soldiers which were intent upon raping her.

Ming-Mei puzzles over her elders words, trying to imagine a world that would pose such danger. The only danger the Amazon's faced nowadays were from outside, and as a unified tribe they could easily handle any such attack. Add to that the Elder's influence with the Chinese communist regime and there was really rather little that could be worried about.

"I see that you are trying to fit your mind over the concept. Don't let it bother you too much, child. Times change, but the tribe shall remain. I just pray that..." Khu-Lon trails off, her pretty face marred suddenly by a frown. She recalls something. Something she should have remembered... but the march of time has dulled the memory, it is but a feeling of foreboding.

Ming-Mei watches Khu-Lon intently, waiting for her elder to voice her concerns. There is a look of worry on Khu-Lon's face, it sets Ming-Mei's heart pounding. The usually stoic woman before her hadn't shown any signs of agitation since she had come back to the village, and Khu-Lon is well known for her immeasurable patience and calm demeanor.

Khu-Lon shakes her head, as if freeing it from the cobwebs of a distant past. "There is danger... I feel that our time grows short. We must return to Japan as fast as we can," Khu-Lon looks up, as if staring at a cloud that seems to be moving closer. The blue sky is pure and pristine.

Ming-Mei, startled by Khu-Lon's sudden serious tone, feels her hackles rise. "Elder Khu-Lon... what wrong?? You no worry, Ming-Mei will-"

Like a snap of lightning, Khu-Lon's hand comes up, "No. This enemy is something... it's not human. Whatever it is... it's hunting. It is hunting Son-In-Law," And once more, swiftly, Khu-Lon turns and with a spring she throws herself into a run... her companion follows moments later when she realizes that Khu-Lon is quickly vanishing into the horizon.

Catching up once more, she gasps... the sun beating down upon them in a feeble effort to assuage their progress. Hot, especially for the time of year... which is odd, Ming-Mei notes.

"Ranma is in danger, and I quite heartily believe that it is in part my own fault. Whatever hunts Ranma now is something foul beyond measure, just the breeze of it sickens me to the core," There is hesitance in her words, as if she has left out the one most important thing that, perhaps, would have been best for her companion to know.

As swift as the wind she runs, golden hair bouncing within it's imprisonment. Khu-Lon, Matriarch of the Niie Chiiezu Amazons of Joketsuzoku, leaps down off a ledge, timing it just right so that she can bounce from a small outcropping, and land on the road to Hong Kong.

Stopping dead in her tracks, she looks at the collapsed pass. Where a bridge had been before, there remains but a gaping canyon. The mists that commonly drifted in towards Jusenkyou clouded the bottom of the canyon, which was a long way down.

She hears the breathing of her companion, the young child Ming-Mei, labored from the rather swift pace she had put for the last 5 miles. She couldn't sympathize, though; suddenly the sense of urgency was dire. Khu-Lon had long ago learned to trust her senses about such things.

A flash. A vast coldness seeming to crawl across her skin, Khu-Lon shivers. There are few times in her lifetime that she had felt such a sensation, to her remembrance. All of those instances could be counted on one hand. Not anymore.

"Why for bridge out? Was okay yesterday," Ming-Mei leans carefully over, gazing down into the ravine and encountering only the far distant vision of thick mist.

Khu-Lon has never liked feeling on edge. It was why she trained so hard as a youth; so that she would never have to feel threatened or out of control again.

She feels out of control now.

"Someone destroyed the bridge, Child. It is a ploy to halt our progress to the Hong Kong port, which only reinforces my feeling that Son-In-Law is in greater trouble than he knows," She steps back, looking across the ravine. A narrowing of her eyes, the gears in her mind turning as she calculates precisely how far the other end of the ravine is.

Ming-Mei straightens her vest, idly fiddling with the smooth crystal fasteners that hold the silk closed, "Why for someone want get Ranma? He just trouble, is no good," Ming-Mei made a silent covenant that she would protect her Elder at all costs against the violent Saotome boy, and what he might do.

Khu-Lon shakes her head silently, "Ming-Mei... Ranma killed Saffron. He defeated Herb. He has time and time again proven to me that he is never one to be trifled with. I feel the weaves of fate that seem to draw everything to that boy. Whatever out there that is hunting him is something that could very well kill him, truly and finally."

"He kill Saffron? Hiya, that big business, I not want mess with Ranma unless he attack you," Ming-Mei's fingers fashion into a fist, she punches the palm of her other hand with vigor, a determined glint in her eyes. Khu-Lon's smile is tight and strained.

"Child. Ming-Mei. I am very flattered at your devoted protection, and I understand that the Council has ordered you to assist me; you still have much to learn as of yet. Our main purpose is to GET to Ranma first. I will worry about aggressions when I have him nearby," She falls silent yet again, the wind whispering something to her.

Ming-Mei scowls, looking slightly pained, "You no want Ming-Mei help?" She asks, her sulkiness beginning to take over. She had so wished that she could prove herself this time. Prove that she was all woman, and a true champion example of the Niie Chiiezu.

Khu-Lon's face summons a slightly annoyed frown, "Child, you do not understand. This is something far too dangerous for you to partake in; only someone with three hundred years of experience should even dare to take up such a task. You could very well be killed," Her gaze stabs into the young girl opposite her.

For a moment, Ming-Mei falters, wondering if perhaps she should not go home. Go home and find a husband, be a mother, defend the village. All so tempting to her, never has she seen her Elder so serious.

Yet a small part of her clings to the ideal. Perhaps she can help, somehow. Perhaps she can learn from the famous Khu-Lon, wisest of the Elders. Then she recalls what her predecessor had said only an hour before.

"Ming-Mei no go. She stay. You telling her that much fear be Amazon of long go. Ming-Mei want learn, she want be strong like Khu-Lon. Ming-Mei not give up!" Her words are sharp, clear, crystal. Spoken with such certainty that it causes Khu-Lon to consider for a brief moment.

Khu-Lon scolds herself for putting ideas into the girl's head. She should have let the girl have her fancy concepts without telling her about her youth. Too late now, Sun-hair. You have to take her along or seem the Hypocrite.

Khu-Lon hates when she is right.

"Child, if you are going to come with me then you will know every moment shall be training, from dusk till dawn and every moment in between. If you fail, I shall send you back to the tribe in shame. If you succeed, you will one day have a high placing in the tribe... and I will personally vouch for you as my student, you either leave now or proceed into the unknown, what is your choice?" The cold breeze washes across her once more, and the faint hint of that vile chill she had experienced earlier.

Ming-Mei nods almost instantly, "Ming-Mei sure. She promise to be good student, she promise she not give up ever, glory to Niie Chiiezu!"

Khu-Lon's eyes roll in an exasperated manner. Youth... was I ever so precocious? She amends the thought a moment later as she realizes she is hardly much older than Ming-Mei now.

"Very well. Come along. I know a different way around this particular impediment," With that, she was off again, running like lighting, smooth as silk and as graceful as the swan.

Ming-Mei's face screws up in a slightly upset expression as she notices her teacher once more vanishing off into the horizon... with sore legs; she begins moving as fast as she can, wondering if they will have to run EVERYWHERE.


	6. Alone in a Crowd

Voices. Hundreds of voices. The cafeteria is full, students walking back and forth from the lunch line, many of them whispering in silent tones about the recent gossip. Kunou has vanished, strange sightings of two Nabiki's, or two Ranma's at times.

Silently they mutter, wordless utterances for the most part. Wary glances cast sideways at shadows, suspicions of every movement being someone spying on their own little secrets.

The tables are full; students chatting and mumbling verse after verse of the latest news. It's too quiet, especially for Nerima they all say. It hasn't been quiet for this long since before Ranma came.

Brown hair. Green eyes. She looks across the room with worry. Beside her sits a girl, black hair cropped short... almost tomboyish in comparison to the other girls.

Beside the Tomboy sits two more, both fair of skin and brown of hair and eyes. They look sadly at each other, exchanging an often practiced look that conveys their mutual sympathy for a certain martial artist... and perhaps a heavy bit of guilt at not having discovered sooner the reason for the boy's woe.

Opposite those two girls, a finely dressed boy in black, his disheveled hair a sharp contrast to his well-groomed outfit. He munches, almost uncaringly, upon a rather large sub sandwich.

"It's only getting worse, Akane-Chan," Ukyou feels her heart lurch in despair as she casts her green eyes towards her love. No. No, not her love anymore. Her friend, someone who really does need her as just a friend now.

Akane nods, only half-listening to the voice of her once rival. She stares almost with a fierce vigilance at her love, the one who holds her heart completely. Her mind plays over and over that scene where she lashed out in anger, and was punished for harming Ranma's soul.

Sayuri notes as Akane rubs her cheek again, where there had been a bruise several weeks ago, there was not even a scar to mark where Ranma had laid into her. "Akane, you have to stop blaming yourself. You can't always control how your heart acts. Sometimes it just... gets away with you," Sayuri places her hand atop Akane's on the table, giving her most supportive smile.

Yuka cracks open her pre made salad, munching a bit on the lettuce, "Sayuri has a point, Akane. You can't feel so guilty, it's in the past and you can't really take it back. I'd just worry for him if I were you, and try and be there for him," There is a sternness in her words as she speaks; she does not attempt to be harsh. Only practical... only realistic.

Gazing at Akane, the Chef notices that her eyes are beginning to swell with tears again. She had been crying a lot recently, and had been having a lot of trouble with controlling the feelings of guilt overwhelming her. "Akane isn't worried about Ranchan being angry with her, girls. I think," Ukyou pauses, looking over at the figure of her once-love.

Ranma eats almost systematically, and very slowly. He just stares on ahead with a forlorn almost sad expression on his face, his shoulders slumped, his body the image of someone who has lost all hope. "I think she's afraid of losing him," Her words are squeaked out as she feels the rush of emotions overcome her.

"Feh, Ranma is strong, he'll pull through. You watch. He'll be tossing insults and bein' cocky again in no time," Daisuke tosses the words out nonchalantly, acting as if everything is fine while knowing very well that all is not as it should be. It is a coping strategy. He has never truly known how to deal with emotions. Never really understood people, either.

"He loves him," Akane's voice is barely audible, as silent as the wind. Even so, the girls seem to flinch, and Daisuke scowls at his sandwich.

"Rotten sandwich... forgot to put the mustard on it," He chokes back a lump in his throat, his eyes stinging.

"I am so afraid of losing him. I don't care if he loves Hiroshi. Seeing him like- like this. It makes me die each time I see him like this," She cradles her head in her hands suddenly, her shoulders shaking with emotions so strong that her tears cannot convey the pain.

Ukyou, always the gentle one. Caressing Akane's back, she had been there. She had been the one, at some point in time, that would have given Ranma up. Given him up so that he could be happy and whole. Her face was placid, yet the tumult within her was anything but calm.

Yet now, it was the woman she had been attempting to rival in the past. The woman who Ukyou knows Ranma loves. Is she to believe that she is wrong now??? Her green gaze takes Akane in. A shamble. A broken woman, her illusions violently ripped away.

What cruel reflection is this, of her own piteous downfall?? Ukyou shakes her head from the thought, hugging Akane gently, "I am afraid of losing him as well, I- don't know what I would do if Ranchan had something happen to him," Gently she looks up again, gazing almost longingly at the vision of her ardor.

She once more must wrench her gaze from that, the man she so adores, lest her own eyes give over to weeping. Who was she attempting to fool, herself? She loves him still, no matter how hard she tries to deny it.

There he sits now, simply staring, his lips moving very slowly, as if he were talking to some dream. Ukyou had seen it happen once before, just a few days ago, when her Ranchan had come into the restaurant to talk. She had just returned to Nerima, and had heard nothing of the events that had happened.

Nothing truly frightened her more than when Ranma just stopped listening. It was an almost physical feeling of withdrawing. She had realized later, after learning of events, how horrid a mistake she had made. She had begun telling Ranma of her successful trip to see her mother. He had obviously needed someone to listen.

She sighs, her eyes stinging from the acrid tears threatening to assault her. She is strong, though, and holds them back. She will not look weak in front of her friends. "He needs to talk to someone, or we will lose him," She must concentrate on relaxing her body, her hands clenched so tightly together that they had begun to hurt.

"Maybe you should go and talk to him, Akane-Chan. I mean... I think maybe he needs to know you are worried, instead of angry with him," Sayuri suggests tentatively, uncertain as to her friend's reaction to the idea. She pokes at her own food, unsure if she is hungry or just feeling mutual depression with Akane.

"I dunno if Ranma could handle that, ya know? I mean, this whole shebang started with Akane if you remember, could very well upset him even more if she were to go and comfort him," Daisuke takes another hefty chunk of the sub into his mouth chewing vigorously.

The murmurs surround Akane, murmurs from the rest of the cafeteria. Yet even with the obvious distraction, she cannot ignore Daisuke's words. She puts her hand across one breast, a suddenly pained look blotting out her otherwise beautiful features. It hurts. Like my heart is breaking. Why, Kami. Why must I destroy everything important to me?

"Daisuke! Shut up right now, or I'm going to get severe on your mug," Yuka shakes a fist at the boy in black, her face red with fury. She feels the gazes of curious students, responses from her none too silent threat. Leave us be, you snooping twerps! Her mind yells, wishing only that they would turn back to their whispering.

"You really aren't helping, Daisuke," Ukyou herself looks flustered, agitated. Maybe even ready to give Daisuke a taste of cold steel spatula upside the head. She turns her gaze to the window, watching the icy rain falling from the sky in droves. Her own heart feels empty, as if shucked of any emotion but the reinforcing depression. When had she last smiled?

Gently he sets the sandwich down, the saran-wrap making its plastic squelching sound as he pushes it slightly away from himself. "You know, I don't really care if I'm helping or not. I ain't gonna lie to you and say that everything will be peachy keen. Ranma is really screwed up right now, and even though it IS Akane's fault, that doesn't mean I gotta tell her it ain't.

You think Akane should go talk to him, fine, but don't blame me if he just ignores her like everyone else. Seems to be what he's been doing lately," Daisuke brushes off his suit, looking to make sure no stray lettuce or tomatoe happened to find it's way onto his rather perfectly groomed outfit.

Once more, the torrential tears assault Akane as she cries. Her body heaving in despair, the truth of Daisuke's words opening up the wound once more. The whispers around her become louder, as students take notice of the sobbing girl.

A soft breath exhaled, a shaking of brown locks. Sayuri hugs Akane, rocking her back and forth in a gentle embrace. "Daisuke, sometimes you can be very thoughtless. Can't you see that Akane is torturing herself enough over this??? She doesn't need someone reminding her of how this all came about," It was the closest Sayuri had come to angry for a long while. Her demeanor wasn't one that was easily flustered.

His fist slams into the table, knuckles red with tension as he stands. "You think this is easy for me, huh!? You think I like the fact that my friend, my BEST friend since I was three years old, has been ousted from Nerima because the one he loves is sorta stuck in this whole thing because of an arranged marriage? DO YOU THINK that I LIKE The fact that My OTHER friend is crawling into a shell where NOBODY can get to him because the person who loves him more than LIFE itself just ran away, out of his life?! Do you think that I LIKE THAT?!"

Fury. Rage. Both color his face in this moment, his hands clasping and unclasping, and the desire to hit something strong in his demeanor, the frustration and anger flooding through him unwasted on his present company. Blinking, they cower back a moment in shock and fear of what MIGHT happen.

Daisuke isn't that sort of fellow, to hurt any person weaker than him. With a moment of pause, the anger slowly ebbs, the fury sloughing off of him like so much dried mud. Replaced by a more fearful, equally frustrated tone of voice. "Do you girls think I like being alone, Huh?" He smiles, an obviously false attempt at ease. "Nobody laughed at my jokes like Hiroshi. Listen to me, I sound like he's dead or something," Now a laugh, tentative, and full of nervous fear.

Daisuke looks at the girls, who are now gazing with much sympathy at Daisuke. They understand loneliness. They don't understand my kind of loneliness, though, He admonishes himself. Nobody Does.

A gentle hand falls upon his shoulder, and he slaps it away, his hand shaking lightly... his whole body shaking. "Cut it, Ukyou. I don't need your sympathy, man," And he turns, picking up the remains of his lunch in an almost mechanical manner, and then leaves the table with as much haste as is allowed.

They watch him go, a feeling of remorse making their moods even worse. "With all the worrying about how Hiroshi has effected Ranma, nobody has really even thought about how it's effected Daisuke," There is too much truth in what Ukyou says, as the other girls lower their heads in no small amount of shame.

"They've known each other most of their lives, I should have realized it sooner that Dai would be reacting badly to this situation too," Sayuri gazes after Daisuke, wondering if perhaps they should have been more receptive and comforting of his own needs.

Once more the murmuring begins. This time not so silently. First Ranma's self-isolation, Kuno and Hiroshi's disappearance, and now Daisuke upset??? The students know not what to think. Once more, their world has been upended; this time in a far less pleasant manner.

"They've known each other that long, huh?" Ukyou's voice cracks for a moment, emotions of loss and guilt washing over her. She should have been here for Ranchan; she should have been there to help him through this rough time. Everything seems in a shambles since she left. There had been such hope and brightness in her Ranchan's voice when last they spoke.

Yuka only nods grimly, her face resolute as her arms cross beneath her breasts. A soft tap-tap-tapping as her shoes beat against the cafeteria floor. "They've been practical brothers in everything but blood," She recalls every summer that Daisuke and Hiroshi would hold a debate and philosophy study at the park. There had always been much laughter surrounding the two.

Until Ranma.

Could she blame Ranma?? Could she really think to herself that Ranma was responsible for the world going to hell in a hand-basket? Softly she shakes her head, to herself. No. There was nobody to blame. Only cupid's foul arrow that pierced true to the soul. "I never thought things would turn out this way," There is no remorse, no sadness this time. A heavy sigh as her shoulders slacken into a hopeless demeanor. She is tired.

"Ukyou," Akane's voice is low, her eyes fixated on the rain cascading outside. Tears of the Angel's?

The chef watches Akane for a time before answering. For the first time she allows herself to see the woman Akane truly is... instead of the rival she has always fought.

We're not so different after all, Akane-Chan, Ukyou softly looked at Akane's distinguished features, her delicate face so obviously female, so obviously tortured that it made Ukyou hurt in her own right. "Hai, Akane-Chan?"

Slowly she turns her brown eyes to Ukyou, her eyes still red from tears. "He needs someone to talk to him... but- but Daisuke is right, I couldn't- It would..."

"Shh. It's okay Sugar... I know what you mean," Ukyou almost felt chastised before Akane. All the times she had tried to take Ranma from her. All the times that she had fought so hard to win some prize, she had been fighting against this girl. A girl who loves Ranma just as dearly as Ukyou herself does.

Her words are almost squeaked out, her voice so close to tears again it stabs at Ukyou, "Please be careful with him?"

The Chef stands; nodding as her hands run gently across her uniform, making sure it is smoothed. An almost habitual gesture. "Hai Akane. I know," There is no challenge in Akane now. No war, no battle for who shall win Ranma.

A sharp right turn, the sound of Ukyou's footsteps as she draws closer and closer to Ranma's table. The seats are empty, save the pig-tailed martial artist. The murmuring quickens around Ukyou, but is quickly ended as she glares fire that would consume any mortal man, hurling it at the students.

Suddenly it is very quiet in the cafeteria. She takes her seat, opposite of Ranma, yet there is no recognition in Ranma's eyes. Ranma stares through her, beyond at something.

"It's cold here, where is my coat??" The tones are soft, frighteningly feminine, yet spoken in a male voice. They cause Ukyou to shudder, her face contorting in a painful realization. He's slipping away...

A soft laughter, almost dreamy in its harmony. "Of course not, Silly. I would remember if I had. Don't worry. I'm a big girl, I can handle a little frigidness," Ranma tilts his head now, "I always liked it when you touched my hair. I feel safe..."

Ukyou puts a hand to her heart, her face contorting in another form of pain; Grief. "Oh Kami, Ranchan, what have we done to you?" She wipes, futilely, at her eyes... suddenly seeming very wet. To lose someone to death of the body, she thinks, is in some way easier than what is happening to her Ranchan.

Gently she reaches over, touching Ranma's hand with her delicate fingers. Then, quite suddenly, her body tenses.

"Why do you have to take me to such cold places, Hiro??? I'd rather go back to the garden picnic," Worry clouds Ranma's face, which Ukyou only now realizes is pale. Ranma doesn't get sick.

Ukyou grasps Ranma's hand suddenly, a shiver running down her spine.

It is cold.

"Ranma? Ranchan, listen to me... you're in Nerima, in Nerima, come back to me Ranchan," Was there an edge of panic in her voice?? She couldn't panic, not now. Something was horribly wrong.

"I was someplace warm before, Hiro. I like being warm," Ranma looks dizzy for a moment, almost as if he were losing consciousness. He shivers, and slowly begins to slip from his seat at the table.

"NOO!" Ukyou screams, her voice reverberating off the walls of the cafeteria. She moves suddenly around the table, grabbing Ranma by the shoulders, shaking the vacant Saotome child, "You are NOT LEAVING ME!" Her strong grip tightens around Ranma's arms, and she shakes him again.

"You are not leaving me, Ranma!" She embraces him roughly, holding him tightly to her, feeling his cool skin against her own warm flesh. " I won't let you! Wake up! WAKE UP!" A sob escapes, tears running down her proud face.

Everyone stares at Ukyou, her loud words having brought full attention from the members of Furinkan High. Akane feels a rending pain in her heart, as she realizes Ukyou has been feeling the same thing she has, ever since she found out.

Proud, Proud Ukyou; too strong to admit when she is afraid for someone she loves.

She is surprised when two arms wrap around her body, the cool cheek against her neck warmer than it had been before. "What's wrong, Ucchan? Why are you crying?"

Another sob escapes her, her mind drowning in the thought of whatever it was happening again. Her tears full of fearful joy, her thoughts wrapping around the idea that she might lose Ranma at any moment. Friend or not, she could never stop loving him.

"I just- thought I'd lost something today," She holds him tightly, trembling. "Don't do that to us, Ranchan," She whispers gently into his ear. She wishes all of those people weren't watching, she hates having to justify herself to them like they seem to demand.

Ranma only hugged his friend, an empty place in his heart haunting him. She loves me, Akane loves me, everyone falls in love with the wrong person.

"I didn't do anything, Ucchan... I was just eating lunch," Slowly, softly he speaks. Almost every word being harder than the last, as if Ranma had run a long distance in a short time and was short of breath. Only Ranma sounds weary, tired in an entirely different way.

Gently she puts him at arms length, looking directly into his blue eyes with her piercing green gaze, "Don't joke around with me, Ranchan, now is really not the time," Stern, resolute, her voice firm. If it was a joke, she didn't think it funny at all.

Squirming to freedom, the black haired Saotome child gives Ukyou an odd look, "I'm not joking. I was sitting here eating, thinking about- about-," Suddenly there is a tortured look in Ranma's eyes, pain beyond pain, torment beyond suffering.

"Ranchan, you're scaring me," Now concern, worry over whether something is wrong. What happened couldn't have happened normally. She couldn't believe that it was just her imagination.

"Ranma?" The voice causes him to recoil as if struck, draw in, his back hunching over as if he were small, he shies from Ukyou's embrace, taking a seat in order to be farther from the voice.

Like a frightened creature he is edgy, "I didn't mean to hit you, Akane... I'm sorry," There is so much sorrow in his voice. So much loss, so many memories transformed to nightmares.

He wants to touch her, to kiss her, to hold her and tell her that he loves her. He can't though, not anymore. Shame. Shame. No longer a man among men, in love with another man. His Best friend. Even now that aching need to be with Hiroshi burns in his veins.

"I'm not angry, Ranma," Akane looks battered, weary as she speaks. She was fighting a losing battle with herself. Her father, Ranma's mother and father, all demanding that she marry Ranma. No choice. No bargain. She sees so clearly that it would kill him if it was forced.

She longs to hold him, to dry his tears, to make the hurting stop. She cannot touch him, though; she lost the right to when she stabbed at his most vital spot... that place that Hiroshi resided in. A secret place, deep in Ranma's heart.

"You don't know how much, Akane... You have no idea how much... but it's over now. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself," Pain dances in the moonlike glimmering of Ranma's eyes, for a moment she finds it hard to breathe, the vision of a regal face invading her thoughts.

A face she would give anything just to see smile once more. If only for a moment.

Ucchan desperately wants to reach out, to hold her Ranchan once more in her arms. He had once had such a strong soul that she could never see any weakness, yet that all seems stripped away now. "Ranchan... Akane forgives you, I am sure. She is worried about you, not angry with you... she loves you and wants to help you get through this, just like I do," The words are hard, she is willingly admitting defeat. Possibly as close as she has ever come to giving up on Ranma.

But now it is for his sake that she places his needs above her own wants.

Almost wild, a certain frantic fear flooding through his blood. Heart pounding, breath held... breath needed, breath strived for... breath finally gained. Why, why is it so hard to breathe when I think of him?

He sees her brown eyes, her shining black hair. The worry creasing her face, making her seem older than her age. Was this Akane? The angry Akane? The Akane who is always so energetic and tomboyish? She looks like she hasn't slept in weeks...

She wants to scream, to claw, to stab herself a thousand times over for ever hurting him. A tight, constricting ball of air lumping in her throat, making it feel stretched and dry. "Ranma, oh Ranma..." She can think of nothing to say, words failing her as they so often do.

Gently she extends a hand, as if reaching for the coast of some distant shore, fingers outstretched. She feels that being near Ranma is almost like trying to catch motes of sunlight... so near impossible it can bring tears of frustration and rage at times.

Sometimes, though, you can almost feel as if you have caught that small ray of sunlight. Ranma reaches out with his own hand, taking Akane's... his fingers numb and almost unfeeling, squeezing Akane's palm between his fingers.

She smiles. That beautiful, Kami-inspired visage becoming bright for a blazing instant. Akane... you are so beautiful when you smile... Then, his voice finds measure, tone, timbre...

"- So beautiful when you smile -" a soft tugging at the corner of his mouth, a half remembered time of insanity that almost seems... happy. All the madness, all the chaos; through it there was Akane. Always Akane.

When you smile- When you smile- when you smile- Like a broken record it repeats in his mind, each time stabbing deeper as he recalls another person who said those words; only, to him.

Would Hiroshi want him to be tortured? Unhappy? Would Hiroshi want him to suffer the rest of his days without love? No. Then why? Why did he have such a problem letting him go?

"It's okay, Ranchan. I understand how you must feel... but Akane," She blinks several times, brushing a portion of her thick brown mane behind an ear, "Akane will help you through it all. I'm here too, we won't let anything happen to you."

The two girls sit with Ranma, gently whispering to him. Ranma listens as best he can; often he finds his mind drifting back to the pain and loss of that night when his heart had been shattered irrevocably. In more ways than one.

He has tried to listen. Has been finding it easier to just stay silent and watch the teacher instead of connecting with any of the rumor mongers in Furinkan. Somehow he finds solace and peace from the suffering within himself; where nobody can lash out and hurt him.

I never wanted to hurt Akane. Never wanted to hurt Ucchan, or anyone. He watches them, noticing perhaps for the first time that they are growing up... no longer teen girls, they are becoming women. Women who love him; who may never stop loving him.

"I just want you to be happy, Ranma. I never wanted to hurt you. I care too much- I- I love you too much. I hurt you once, I don't want to lose you because of it," Akane's words pierce through Ranma's cloud of darkness, summoning forth a faint glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

Ranma's heart aches as Akane speaks. She never meant to hurt him; he never meant to hurt her. She said that she loves him. "I'm sorry, Akane," The words come unbidden to his lips, ushering forth like a gentle wind, "It's too late for me."

Ukyou felt the chill once more, "Ranchan, please don't talk that way. We both love you so much that sometimes it hurts. It's not too late to come back to us. Don't leave us, Ranchan, please?" Her eyes mist, tears coalescing on the surface of them.

"My soul has been torn apart, Ucchan. It- it gets hard to breath sometimes- and I- Kami I miss him," he grasps his chest, the pain of a thousand knives being jammed violently into his torso rising from ghostly wounds. The breath leaves him and once more he feels the panic of approaching darkness. The darkness that comes when he cannot wrench the breath from its ghostly thieves.

"Kami, Akane, slap him on the back or something! He's choking!" Ukyou scrambles from her seat, rushing around the table and slapping Ranma hard on the back repeatedly until a breath is drawn, raggedly, from betwixt his lips.

Akane stares, horrified, at Ranma. The words that left her love's mouth seeming blasphemy from everything she had ever longed to hear from him.

He loves him Her mind cannot wrap itself around the idea, a feeling in her chest mirroring Ranma's pain. She stares numbly as Ukyou's hand connects again and again upon Ranma on the back, not realizing that her fiancée is in pain beyond imagining. He loves him- that much…

With a sputtering cough and a ragged gasp Ranma breaths once more, the breath coming uneasily to him. "Th-Thanks Ucchan," A gentle squeeze of his hand in Ukyou's, tears misting in Ranma's blue-gray eyes.

"Hey, it's not a problem Ranchan. You know I'm here for you," She clips the last part of the sentence, wondering exactly why she chose that phrase. Was it because she wanted to be there for Ranma as a friend, or as a girlfriend?

"I hope you honestly realize how completely pathetic and disgusting this display is, isn't that right girls?" The voice sent jolts of anger through Akane, the hot prickling sensation dancing across her skin as she flushes from the heat of the emotion.

Ami wasn't someone welcome in the present company… and neither were her girlfriends.

Ukyou straightens herself, looking at the girl who has suddenly approached and spoken quite abrasively. "Hey, lay off, okay? Ranchan is in a lot of pain," Ukyou finds her defenses suddenly springing up, the hair on the back of her neck itching slightly. Instantly her body tenses, and she steps a bit closer to Ranma.

Terror mixed with self-loathing, the emotions flashing across Ranma's face are not wasted on his two companions.

"Oh please, Ukyou. He is simply vying for affection like the pathetic little weasel he is. I would think YOU would be one of the last people to believe this crap," Almost sneering, Ami's eyes burn fire from their dark recesses, fixated upon Ranma and his weakened state.

Akane likens the girl to some sort of predator, waiting until the prey is too weak to escape in order to attack. "Ami. I am going to break your legs," The words splash forth in a rather colorful monotone. Gazes turn to Akane at the calm promise that had just been uttered.

Ami blinks, unsure if she was hearing Akane correctly. "What did you just say?" In Ami's mind, she could conceive of no reason for Akane not to agree with her. Akane was still her friend, through some convoluted effort of mental exertion.

The two girls accompanying Ami likewise stand stunned, gawking at Akane, who's own cold eyes promise violence.

"Akane, you listen to me and you listen good. Ever since Ranma has come here there has been nothing but trouble. Trouble and pain, for both you and everyone else around Ranma," Lifting a finger in mocking accusation towards Ranma, Ami continues, "You look at him, look at how pathetic he is now. Look at what he deserves, what he has brought upon himself Akane!"

Murmurs, whispers, half-voiced thoughts. 'Perhaps she is right' and 'Things were quiet before…' as well as 'No wonder nobody likes him'. Each word a serrated blade plunging deep within Ranma Saotome's soul as they are brought forth.

Alone. Again. Alone Always. Ranma wonders why he ever thought it could be otherwise. Everything I touch turns to dust.

Akane's fists tighten; she feels flesh being damaged by her nails as her body shakes. One step. Two. Inside she grins as Ami and her friends take a step back. She hears the words being muttered, but right now they don't matter. The deliverer of the pain has to be dealt with.

One step. Three. Ami retreats at the swiftly growing storm raging forth from Akane's molten gaze. "Damn it, Akane, Listen to me! Think about the people Ranma has known and hurt! Everyone that comes after him is trying to marry or kill him! He's destroyed your life! He's destroyed ALL OF OUR LIVES! YOU TELL ME, WHAT GOOD HAS COME OF HIM?!"

Grace of a cat, swift as the wind she closes the distance between them. Her father's words ring in her ears, "The Art is for defense of yourself and for the ones you love, never should it be used to hurt another person. You have great power when you learn the art, and with it comes great responsibility."

The words seem hollow now. Meaningless. She silences the litany of words cascading forth from Ami's mouth, a smooth pivot and a faint punch to the girls face, changing the pivot into a full rotation and letting her elbow connect suddenly with the girls unprotected midsection.

Breath gone, gasping for air. Ami bends forward from the blow, like a reed in a high wind; her arms limp for a moment. A moment is enough.

Locking her hand about Ami's wrist and leaning forward in the same motion that began the attack, Akane pulls downwards while continuing a slight turning and bowing motion. Ami ascends from the ground, tumbling over Akane's shoulder only to connect with terra firma a second later.

Half aware of two heavy weights on her arms, Akane raises her fist to land a devastating blow directly to Ami's chest. A loud thump seems to hover in the back of her mind, all other sounds almost like molasses to her.

Ukyou's voice pierces the rage surging through Akane's body.

Akane pauses in her assault, casting a glance over at Ukyou. They seem far away to Akane, but one thing sticks in her mind.

Ranma's inert form in Ukyou's arms.

"RANMA!!"


	7. The Road to Nerima

Somewhere north of Tokyo, a medium sized cart trudges along through the thin layer of snow that has matted the ground. The sun, partly concealed by the dark gray clouds above, shines almost weakly against the cold bite of pre-winter frost. Two tightly bundled figures sit on the back of the cart, while a third figure pulls it along at a steady speed.

It's not every day you see a giant pig pulling a wooden cart.

"No, I insist, I baked them myself. The least you can do is try one, Ryouga-Chan," She offers the cupcake to her love, holding it carefully out as if it were a precious gift. Akari Unryuu takes pleasure in the simple things of life, something that has always endeared her to Ryouga Hibiki.

Ryouga has had worse. He would readily admit that if asked. He could certainly think of a more bitter and unsavory situation than riding on the back of a wagon drawn by a sumo pig with a woman who is, for all intents and purposes, madly in love with him.

Ryouga usually considers this a good thing; in fact, he might even go as far as to be happy in these circumstances. He often is in the presence of Akari. Only one problem Remains.

Ranma Saotome.

Arms crossed, sitting in lotus position, Ryouga's face is serious, as if in deep contemplation. "If you are going to keep insisting, I'm going to have to say yes you know."

A soft, silken giggle, "I know… that's the idea, isn't it?" Ryouga's disposition is not unknown to Akari. Gently she tilts her head in that slightly innocent, girlish, inquiring manner that many women seem to be fond of.

At least, Ryouga thinks many women are.

"Ryouga, what is bothering you so much? Is it Ranma still?" There isn't any trepidation in the words she speaks, no pausing in the questions she asks.

Sometimes Ryouga wonders if Akari thinks they are already married. The painful thought of Akane rises from that contemplation, but quickly he pushes it aside.

He has too much to think about as it is. Gently he nods his head, a sad twinkle in his eyes, "Akari, if you had been there you would have seen. I would not wish Ranma's suffering on the devil himself, I actually feel guilty," He unfolds his arms, placing one against his head as his body shakes lightly, "All the times I wished Ranma ill…"

Akari slaps Ryouga gently on the arm, "Ryouga-Chan, stop trying to convince me. Are we not on a cart? Are we not going to Nerima? Am I not here to help you with anything, should anything bad happen to you or your friends?" Looping an arm around Ryouga's, she leans gently on him, the warmth of her body close to his.

A deep sigh, one only the wanderer could exert. "I know, Akari. It's just that I- I-"

"You feel responsible. Don't, it's not your fault that fate plays cruel tricks on people sometimes, Ryouga-Chan," She brings her hand, covered by a thick mitten, and caresses the black-haired boy's cheek softly. "Please, Ryouga-Chan, at least try and be happy that you care for Ranma, instead of thinking about what you've done in the past to him."

He stares at her, her love filled eyes, her gentle hand upon his cheek. Her words soothe him; make him look inward, farther than he usually lets himself. It makes him look outward, seeing the horizon that he always missed. "He's my friend, and I think-" He looks down, into his empty hands, hands filled with tremendous strength. "I think that perhaps this is something I can't fight sometimes; but I know that Ranma needs someone. Anyone."

Softly, like the wind caressing the trees, she lets her hand drift down, resting in his. Her soft, wool mitted hand warm in his own. "Ryouga-Chan, even if Ranma can't be helped, that is no reason not to try. If what you say is true, he may need friends more now than ever before."

Suddenly, the cart comes to a direct stop. Katsunishiki snorts loudly as his massive body sinks to the ground to rest. His energy drained by the frosty chill in the air, as well as the long trek across land.

A deep, rumbling sigh escapes Ryouga's mouth, forming into a fine mist from the cold. "I suppose… since we've stopped that I should have a snack," He summons forth his best smile for Akari. She doesn't deserve seeing me this way, she's done so much for me

Akari unwraps one of the cupcakes, handing it to her beloved. Patiently she watches him eat the delectable snack, taking small bites in a very thoughtful disposition. "So do you like it?" She asks apprehensively, unable to imagine what could have shaken her beloved so badly.

Ryouga heaves another hefty sigh, looking at the partially devoured cupcake, "Oh Akari, it's wonderful. You've been wonderful too," He looks up, his dark green eyes flashing. "You've done so much for me, and now all of this; I don't know if I can ever repay you."

She tilts her head now, looking at him with a girlish innocence, "There's no need, Ryouga-Chan… your love is all the sustenance my soul requires."

He looks up, at the dark clouds that flit across the sky in patches of gray. "…Sustenance… does that mean Ranma's soul is starving without him?" The vivid image sticks in his mind, Ranma weeping in the dojo; her eyes as red as her hair. Shivering, too, from the cold that had been out that night.

What a way to remember the Prom, Ranma. His thoughts are interrupted as a warm body shifts, drawing closer against him. Without thought, he lifts his arms, drawing Akari closer to him. A half-content smile drifts sleepily across his weary features.

"You have changed so much since we met, Ryouga-Chan," She sounds happy, yet lamenting in the same moment. Perhaps she regrets all the hardships that her love has been forced to endure over their brief time of acquaintance. "Sometimes I wonder if I know you at all, Hibiki Ryouga."

He holds her tighter against himself, his face contorting slightly in pain. Why must I feel so detached from everyone I know? Damn my horrid direction sense. He relaxes suddenly, a thought washing the other away. But- people are so honest to a lost wanderer. They see the sadness I carry. Ranma must be burdened with those who know him well enough to deceive and use him.

"Akari," He pulls her against him again, resting his chin atop her head as he pulls her gently into his lap. "You know what is important about me; my curse, my love for- for-" He pauses, finding that wound still fresh, still confusing from the most recent events in the Tendou Household.

It was true that his love for Akane had fallen to the backburner since he had met Akari, but he still harbored deep feelings for her, and hated seeing her hurt in any way. The conflict inside him, though, was that for all intents and purposes, she had deserved the cruelest of blows. Struck by her fiancée and love.

The girl in his arms gives forth her own ushering of outward breath, misting as cold as his own. "Ryouga, how much do you think that I love you?" She dislikes the tenseness in him that suddenly springs forth again. He has such difficulty with words at times, especially around pretty girls.

"I- Akari- What are you asking- I don't think that-" He finds himself silenced, her soft mitted hand against his mouth, the warmth of her hand soaking through the thick woolen mittens.

"Since we met, you told me about Akane. Since I have known you, that feeling has never wavered, even though-" She pauses, lifting her hand from over his mouth, "-What was between us has grown. I always entertain and think about the idea that you still might choose her. It would hurt me," Again her words take a momentary lapse before she continues on, "But, I love you enough to understand if you ever had to make that choice, it would be for Akane and her happiness."

"Akari…" He wants to say something, ANYTHING to take away that little bit of sadness that such things cause within her.

"I love you for your honor, too, Ryouga-Chan," She hugs him, as if he might soon pass on to some afterlife and she may never again lay living eyes upon him. "You are kind, and loyal, and compassionate. Loving, and selfless, and understanding; these are the things I value you for, Hibiki Ryouga. You remember that. And if ever, if EVER there comes a time you have to prove those things to me, I ask you to do so no matter the consequences."

He adjusts his position, his hands grasping her and holding her at a length which he can look down and into her eyes comfortably, "Akari-Chan, I- Know that I might seem so very confused at times. I- I have just been unhappy for so long that I don't know if I can decide so quickly. I want to be happy. You make me happy. Akane thinks of me only as a friend," He takes her hands tightly into his own, holding them as if they were frail sakura blossoms.

"All my life I have been lost and alone, and now you are where my heart calls home. My poor mistreated heart of glass. I want nothing, nothing at all than to be with you forevermore until my heart beats it's last," He pulls her to himself, embracing her, his eyes closed in a gentle, wistful manner.

"Sometimes, though, you give me too much credit. There are some things that I want to tell you, but I am just not ready. Shameful things," Stroking her silken hair, a sad fire burns in his eyes. Dishonor. To someone who is a friend, no less. A continued lie that he couldn't seem to escape. He still can't.

"It doesn't matter to me, Ryouga-Chan… all that matters to me is if you are happy. That is why we are here, in this cart, going to Nerima. So that you can be happy for having done all you can for a dear friend," She looks up at him, her eyes shimmering lightly with an unspoken emotion. One Ryouga knows well, coming from Akari. One he was quite absent of for most of his existence.

Crisp, sharp, abrupt he speaks, "Ranma has saved my life several times, even though he- gave me this curse. I cannot hold that against him any longer. I could have been forever stuck as a pig with- with Herb and his damn Chiisuiton, But Ranma sacrificed what could have been the only cure so that Mousse and I could return to normal, many times have we fought together," He squeezes Akari in his arms, gently as if she were a porcelain doll.

"I am sure you and he make great allies when you are not fighting, Ryouga-Chan, and if this journey says anything about your feelings… good friends too," Her smile is bright, shining in the snowy eve around them. There is such hope and love in Akari Unryuu.

A smile, bearing fangs and a toothy grin. Dark green eyes dancing with a happiness that seems alien to them. "I guess we are, Akari," a nod, then he leans forwards, carefully kissing the girl in his arms upon the cheek. Innocent love, romantic love, love which only Ryouga could provide to her.

"Let's set up camp for the night before it starts getting too cold, Ryouga-Chan," Her breath mists as she exhales, rubbing her arms with her hands as she hops off the cart.

Silently they move, a tranquil calm and feeling of companionship ever connecting them with their motions, moving in unison with an almost natural ease. They are compliments to each other.

Ryouga's hands are quick, efficient from long years of practice during travel. He proffers a fang-toothed smile to Akari as he finishes setting up the tents.

He pauses a moment, looking out over the vast whiteness that the infrequent snow had blanketed the countryside with. Taking a deep breath of the cool air and letting it chill his lungs for a brief moment, he lets it out, watching his breath mist amidst the cool evening wind.

He's been many places, seen many kinds of winters. Each one a newfound love for it's serene and slumbering beauty. More recently each a newfound reason to fear, ice water being abundant in that time of year.

A shiver. An intent look as he almost hears something. Shadow of sunlight, a sharp but almost ghostly note that seems to dance upon the crystallized air as elusive as pixie dust. A deep unsettling feeling sitting low in his stomach at the almost ethereal tone.

Softly, but with the sharpness of a katana her words slice through the moment, "Ryouga? Are you all right, dear?" A simple question, one causing him to jump and to look at her.

"I thought I heard something," He looks about, as if the note might suddenly materialize… he half wondered if it had been a single note or a string of them from some eerie choir.

She gracefully approaches, arm snaking out around his waist as she looks up at him, at his distant look. Intense. Searching. "What did it sound like?" She tilts her head to the side, curious, searching in her own right for what had caused her love to seem so intent.

"I don't know," It is gone now, his muscles easing as he recalls its strange feel. "Like Silver Wind."


	8. Lost in the Self

Falling. Falling. A feeling of overwhelming darkness devouring her as the light she so loved fades quickly behind her. The darkness pulling, tearing at her clothes, at her body.

She cries out in pain as the wind buffets her, a foul zephyr that reeks of age-old decay and thousands of years of isolation. Falling. Falling, the darkness wrapping around her small frame and swallowing it up completely.

Impact.

Coughing from the violent stop, she curls into a ball, her body aching from hairline to feet. A thick haze of dust swirling up around her still form. Somewhere, in the distance, a blacksmith's hammer collides heavily with its anvil. Again. Again. Metal on hot metal.

Shivering. Cold. She clenches her eyes tighter, a soft whimper whispering forth from her pale lips as a tear strolls gently down a cheek. Still the hammer colliding, still the echo of metal, forgery forging. An image with each resounding of the sledge.

Clang Blood.

Clang Wings that glow softly like the moon.

Clang A cloud of White feathers.

Clang Iron Nails.

Clang 

A mask, spinning off into darkness, an expressionless look on it's face, the eyes devoid of anything.

Open A voice rises within her.

Clang A figure nailed up.

Clang Blood pouring forth.

Clang A spring rising where the blood falls.

Clang 

The spring darkens, like a drop of pure night had been added and it was slowly corrupting the pristine pool.

OPEN The voice demands, no… commands.

A moment falls upon her. Everything pure white, white everywhere. Everything. A man standing, disheveled auburn locks about his face, held back by a white banner of balance wrapped with great care around his head. He is dressed in white also, but his eyes are green as the living forest.

His hand rises, and presses against a transparent barrier of air. His lips move in words like, "I promise," with I-Love-You in his eyes.

OPEN It bids, it's voice feminine, masculine. Powerful. Gentle.

The man in white presses harder, and suddenly the barrier shatters, shards of shimmering glass flying towards her… and her eyes were opened.


	9. The Path Inward

Music. Ivory notes dancing on the wind. Deep. Somber, almost beautifully tragic. Her eyes blink as they open, the blur of the gray dust cloud around her seeming to caress her clothes.

Notes… powerful, splendid, full of dark lament. Piano Her mind whispers. Ivory keys and ivory notes. Something else, low, accompanying. A violin.

It swirls, the melody… a familiar song, but one evading her grasp. She sits up slowly, her whole body aching from the solid impact. Shock sketched upon her face as she looks down at her clothing, rich died silks in 9 layers, embroidered with gold and silver trim. A lifted hand, a curious look at the strange barbed tattoos around her wrists.

Calm. Settled, the dust clears… around her is a desolate landscape of twisted and misshapen fauna. The lamenting song almost meshing and caressing the malformed trees.

Slowly she rises up, taking to her feet, wavering for a moment as dizziness assaults her skull. Colors, pastels, dancing across her vision. Then with a cracking noise everything seems to snap back into place again.

Silk. A Kimono. Embracing her body in its gentle warm folds. She could not fathom why she was wearing those clothes. All she understood was that her head was pounding like the spokes of a train.

Silver light. Shining down upon her form. The moon large and pale in its throne amongst the stars. Majestic. That ephemeral song dancing upon the wind, causing a shiver to pass through the redhead standing there, amidst the deformed land.

One. Two. One. Two. Almost like an exercise, she sluggishly begins to move, weaving off balance, tossing arms forwards and backwards as she realizes that she is wearing Geta on her feet, explaining the difficulty in balance.

Her mind absently wonders why she is wearing the wooden block sandals… or where she is. Or why she is dressed in a Kimono. Idly her hand smoothes over the richly died silks, the other caressing her hair with the same silken texture.

Balance found. She begins moving, as if she suddenly had been walking in Geta all her life. Her sapphire gaze dancing around the misshapen sakura trees, which twist and turn at odd angles. She is uncertain how long she walks… only that she stops suddenly, her breath catching, as her eyes behold a temple fashioned of polished marble, gleaming in the moonlight.

Out of thin air, behind and to the left of the Temple, a waterfall cascades down into a crystal clear pool. Surrounding the base of the steps is a large garden full of flowers, one side roses, the other lilacs. The colors seeming brilliant and almost glowing with life as the moon casts it's silver light upon them.

The sound of something being cut. A blink as her deep blue eyes turn to look at the woman in the kimono.

The woman's hair was a shade darker than blood… almost a brown, and wavy. Her skin pale amidst the moonlight. Gently she cradled the ripe buds of the roses, whose beauty caused a stirring ache within Ranma's breast. The woman's eyes a sharp gray. The name Nodoka comes unbidden to the redhead's mind, the visage seeming familiar to her sapphire eyes.

The snipping sound again, the bud from the beautiful living rose falling from its stem as the woman, Nodoka, removes it with scissors.

"Why are you doing that?" The crimson haired young woman asks, a bleeding wound within her soul suddenly sprouting up at the improper treatment of the rose. Her hand is upon her chest, her eyes tearing a bit at the site of the mutilation. Even now she can see, beneath the light of the moon, the life ebbing from the petals of the rosebud.

A pause. The woman's gaze coming up to meet Ranma's. For a moment her gray eyes consider Ranma… looking almost through the girl before taking on an angry melody in their misty irises. "Of what concern are MY roses to you?" Nodoka demands, holding the pruning blades in an unconsciously threatening manner.

A step backwards. A look of confusion. Nodoka had not spoken with a venomous tone, in fact the tone was rather sweet… but there was a strange edge to her voice that warned Ranma that meddling in her affairs would not be tolerated. "I- I just thought they were so beautiful. I wanted to know why you would ever harm them?" A slight feeling of odd familiarity, Ranma wondering if that question had been asked before somehow.

The woman turned from Ranma, pruning the rosebud from yet another stem. "I have tired of their beauty. I have cultivated them as much as I can, but now I need the strong rosebushes. They are more valuable to me." There was a calm, motherly tone about her voice. It brought back memories to Ranma.

Of the scent of perfume and the warmth of a protective embrace, someone that would always keep her from harm. Someone that would never ever think to hurt her.

A shake of her head. Ranma's crimson locks bouncing with the movement as she brings a hand up, rubbing her temple. Wondering why there seems to be little physical sensation to her fingers.

"Why are they more valuable?" The inquiry is met with a tensing of the older woman's body. Again she prunes a blossom from its stem, causing Ranma to wince in pain, almost as if she was having something important cut out of her in the same instant.

"Naturally," The woman begins, "The thorn bushes provide menace and imbue a look of strength to the temple surroundings. The beauty of the roses is not needed any further, so I am removing it from the common grounds."

Tears began then, she feels them rolling down her cheeks. Her hand tenses, tightens, fingers gripping and tangling in the fabric of her Kimono as she watches the older woman destroy the pristine beauty of the landscape. "Why did you plant the roses then? Why not plant something else with thorns that was brutally ugly?"

Her voice is piercing, accusing. It shocks her the anger that seems to ride on every syllable of her words, coupled with the sorrow embracing the words themselves. Ranma realizes absently that she is trembling.

Nodoka sighs now, looking carefully at the flowers as if contemplating some deeper decision. Her eyes look lonely and distant, her body less tense than a moment before. "My Husband planted the roses. I made a promise to take care of their beauty," A brief moments pause, an inward struggle to keep tears in check. Perhaps a reminder to stay a strong example to this young woman.

"Why?" It comes out a squeak. Barely audible past the lump in Ranma's throat, her dark blue eyes misted with tears, hand shaking as it clutches the fabric of her own kimono.

The older woman seems close to tears herself, one hand caressing another rose before she cuts it from its life source. "I was always a gentle woman. I never wanted to be the strong one, I never wanted to take command and be the one who cares for everything."

"But when the beauty of the roses began drawing the attention of young men and women, who wished to take the roses from me- I- I did what I must," Her voice wavers, and she slips in her ministrations of the buds, the sharp scissors severing one of her elegant fingers.

Her face contorts in pain, and she bites her lip to keep from screaming. Carefully she holds the hand up, looking at the bleeding stump before she bursts into tears, her face cradled in her unwounded hand.

A gentle voice. Aged. Learned. A soft whisper behind the younger woman, as if the voice spoke over her right shoulder.

"For her pain washed the seed, and it grew stronger. Her blood was it's life, and her fears fed it's roots… thus was she made happy when at last she opened her eyes and was awed in the glory of the dawn she had blinded herself to."

Shock, a quick movement, her kimono fluttering as she spins around, the world seeming to slow down to a crawl and then snap into place once more.

Sparks danced with the striking noise of the hammer upon steel. A man heavily muscled, aged yet still youthful in his eyes. A name summoned again from the air, Genma.

Body glistening with effort, skin tanned dark, as if he has spent years in the forge. He pauses, breathing deeply the heady thickness of the hot air around him. A hand, large, wiping his brow of sweat.

Heat, sweltering and viscous. The heat falling upon her in waves, causing the layers of clothing closest to her skin to cling to her flesh. With the same practiced Elegance before she steps closer to the forge and blacksmith, eyes darting from one point to another, confusion and curiosity on her features.

Eyes, piercing, harrowing. The man takes notice of the pale young woman before him, yet responds only by lifting his hammer, other fist clenching the tongs that hold the steel, the impact of hammer against metal. Sparks erupting from the contact. "What do you want, Girl?" There is no pretense, nor is there desire of one from the succinctness of the question.

Confusion, disorientation. She finds herself wavering unsteadily on her feet, taking an unsteady step forward as everything dances across her vision The world seems to swim, swimming together, the shapes seeming to float into each other before it once again snaps into a solid state, the man catching her in his arms.

Stone. A jaw, depthless eyes, yet somehow hiding something. They look down at her. No, his face was not just hard planes and rugged strength. No, his face was stone. Fingers, drifting, they float up and touch the visage in front of her.

Gravel grinding, stone against stone his words, "What do you want," rock, strength, support. She realizes his arms are stone, as is the rest of him.

"I- I am lost, I think-" Suddenly pain, her mouth open wide in a silent screaming rictus, swallowing the world. The world swallows her. Snapped, like a rubber band her soul is stretched, wrenched from it's body, thrust into a vast and abysmal pit. Darkness all around, her body being shredded, molecule by molecule. Screams. A thousand screams.

Fire. Ice. Dancing across her skin as she is thrown violently back into her body. Choking, gagging, attempting to catch breath from the suffocation of that immense empty place.

Arms around her. Strong, stone arms. "We are all lost until we find the way, Girl," Smooth, simple, words tumbling forth as if off of sleet. Trembling, fear.

I am afraid Shock. Disbelief. Somehow, she did not think she would ever be afraid. Somehow, a part of her did not understand fear. Arms. Stone arms, gentle around her. Softly stroking her silk hair with large, rocky hands.

"What- What were you doing?" Voices, inside of her, chastising her. How can you be so weak? How can you show fear, a true martial artist shows no fear. Fear is weakness.

Wrenching. She turns, her face contorted once more in a look of pain. A face. White cloth. Flashing, then gone. Her arms folded beneath her breasts, her back to the strange Genma man.

Grating stone, deep, resounding as a mountain, "Re-forging a sword," Metal on metal, sparks, the heat of a bellows. Of course. She should have guessed.

Fire, heat. Blue eyes gazing on as the tongues hold the shaft of metal in the heat… lifting it after what seems like an eternity, bringing it to the blank ebon face of the anvil. Great hands of stone wielding a hammer, bringing it down upon the glowing alloy.

"The metal, it never knows I am guiding it... shaping it. Sweating over it, dreaming over it. The metal, it is innocent, virgin. It once was a fine weapon, fit for any battle," Anger, lava thick in the words spilling from his mouth, anger at whom though?

Lifting, her eyes pierce through the stone visage, seeing deeply within this Genma person. "You love the weapons."

Haste, his hand coming up, his depthless eyes considering the hammer in his hand, then looking upon the glowing ember on the anvil, "It is art, it is my life. I spent my life forging. What am I to feel, knowing that which I never knew before. No man is perfect, and every blade has a flaw."

An exploding metal sound as the man of rock brings the hammer violently down on the shaft of metal, flattening it. "I never knew. Of course he knew, I never saw it," A short laugh, seemingly like an abrupt eruption of fire from deep within his stone gullet. "Not even half my age, and he knew the truth of the metal."

Soft skin. Softly caressing the strangely cold lump of metal on the anvil. "It is a heart," Her words drift forth as if as a single thought drifting free of Lete.

A shiver passes through her, a thick liquid scent seeming to permeate her being… gentle drifting notes of some oft forgotten melody from childhood. A silver wind, "And low… the wisest of them all had been the most foolish. What outer strength he did wish to show far hidden within, his sacrifice, perhaps, never to be known," Familiar, that voice ushering silver melodies into her ears, words of some meaning.

As if of a memory of a friend in a dream which has faded. Once more she turns the world seeming to incinerate itself while she felt ice plunging into her heart.

And she was falling.


	10. Tears and Anger

Gray light shines in through the thin pane of the window. Outside, it is softly snowing… the thick, wet flakes drifting down and intermingling upon the ground like so many sakura petals.

There is a silent tension in the room, where the shadows play across everything. A small lamp, by the bedside, gives forth it's own light to intermingle with the gray shine cascading through the window.

The light which intermingles causing the room to look similar to a faded color photograph, bleeding off the rich tones over time.

A face, peaceful in slumber, black hair framing its serene youthful complexion. The body, which the face is attached to, is relaxed. As if it were but a rag doll, or a puppet whose puppeteer had left it behind.

His body, Ranma's body, is wrapped in blankets of wool and cotton, Akane's bed soft beneath his slack form.

Three other figures sit, straight-backed, beside the slumbering figure. All female. One is dressed in the black male uniform of Furinkan High School, her brown hair bound back by a white sash of silk, tied up into a ribbon.

Another, with tension in her posture, her hands softly cradling one of Ranma's. Her eyes are tired, red. There are no more tears to be cried, the supply exhausted for the time being. The images of earlier that day flashing in her mind, everything in a deep red haze as she attacked the girl named Ami.

She tells herself she has done the right thing. Tells herself that she was completely justified in assaulting the loud-mouthed harpy that was doing her damnedest to destroy any sense of hope that Ranma might have left.

Yet, she cannot shake the fact that she has attacked someone who could not conceivably defend themselves, and for only voicing their harsh, cruel opinions.

She holds onto that, at least… the girl was cruel, and deserved it.

The third figure in the room is someone of naturally calm demeanor, with an aura of sugar and spice. The worried expression she is wearing something that has been too common as of late. Just a short month ago, she would not have wore such an expression, but one of a more pleasant nature.

Mirroring her sister, she cups one of Ranma's unresponsive hands in hers. Her eyes fixated on the pale, sickly looking person on the bed. Much like her smile, Ranma's health seems to have vanished since the leaving of the boy… the boy who changed everything.

The elder sister's lips part. The words pouring forth as gray and un-definable as the pale light cascading into the room from the window, "You say that he simply collapsed, Akane-Chan?" Her delicate, soft hands gently dip the cool cloth in and out of the bowl full of crisp, cold water three times. Squeezing the excess from the cloth, she carefully dabs the forehead of the boy upon the bed.

Only a nod is emitted from the girl with the short-cropped black hair. At one point, she would have been infuriated that Ranma was on her bed, for any reason. It seems to her that those moments are so far away, swallowed up by the enigmatic tumult that has thrown the chaotic world of Ranma Saotome into chaos quite unfamiliar to them all.

"It was that Ami girl, I think, Kasumi-Chan," A shining spatula sits in her hand, she considers it, her reflection clear against its carefully polished surface. She weighs in her mind all the faults of her past, forced to live as a man for so long, who had she become? Is she Ukyou, the boy she had been raised as? Or is she the girl whose delicate heart had been forever captured by the boy sitting immobile on the bed?

A full body sigh. Kasumi's form seeming to shrug with weariness, so much had happened recently. Her house seemed to be falling apart around her. "Please, Kuonji-San… tell me what happened," Her eyes fixate on the pale flesh of Ranma's hand, surrounded by the blue and white of Akane's comforter.

"Ranma isn't the same, he's so tired. He's just so tired- and- and- it hurt him, what the girl said," She turns, her eyes taking in the dim light from the window. Gently, hand drifting upwards, she touches her cheeks. An uncommon wetness is discovered. Am I… Crying? It had become a habit of late, she realizes. When had she become so weak?

Grey light, shadows. The room looking too similar to a faded photograph to her eyes. The colors half-alive, everything in some sort of pseudo-state of existence, as if everything was held motionless, like the young man on the bed. The young PERSON on the bed… I cannot think of him as a man, when he doesn't know what he is.

Her head turned back towards the eldest girl in the room. Her sorrow only reflected in the elder girl's eyes. Unbearable, the emotions drifting through the soft brown orbs of Kasumi Tendou's eyes. Ukyou turns away, looking down upon herself and again finding that chilling sensation creeping slowly up her spine.

Everything has changed. Her existence, her love, the people who had until now been reliable to a predictable level… everything seemed as if it were falling apart. Twice again she parts her lips, attempting to will words from between them, but stayed by the simple fact that she does not know what to explain. Her body is limp, weary as she leans against the wall beside the window. She does not recall having walked there… perhaps she drifted.

"We were trying to comfort Ranma. He seems so lonely since… THEN Oneechan," Her eyes fixating on Ucchan. Here, Ranma's best friend and closest confidante. She seems compelled, as if she cannot look away from her. What has happened to them all? So much suffering seems to have exploded in their faces. Was this what Hiroshi had intended when he began his quest to help Ranma?

No. That she is sure of. Tearing her eyes away from Ukyou, she turns them back to her sister, who silently waits like some patient saint.

"She approached us both, there was no warning. Ranma… he looked incredibly ill. Ami began insulting him. I do not know why she began doing this, only that it began at my slumber party," Crisp, yet emotionless. It is a report, no feeling or passion in it, as if her words had been drained of feeling. Perhaps she simply is exhausted.

How could she say it otherwise? Tired, weary. Her body feeling for all the life of her drained, succumbing to some life-sapping force. Perhaps she felt connected to that figure lying upon the bed, looking absolutely frail. The images of her face, as if she were reflected in some mirror… or viewing herself from outside, as she attacked the girl.

A sense of falling. Akane feeling as if she is being sucked down into herself by the well of dark emotions that run turbulent through her heart. Her inner voice begging to see his cocky smile, his carefree arrogance and pride, knowing now it is far too late for such frivolous hopes.

So she hopes simply for him to come back, no matter what might happen. The fear of losing him greater than the fear of never being his.

Sadness. An expression not common on the face of Kasumi. A gentle, curt nod… acknowledgement of the facts. She feels helpless, again the sense of failure. She was to protect the family, keep them safe. Ranma might not have been family by name, but he was family nonetheless.

Helpless. Her soul devoured by the feelings of frustration. She should have done something, she should have been able to help Ranma, her duty. Always her duty… she had promised to keep them all happy, promised Mother. Pain, dark pain, welling up. Eating her insides, tears springing to her eyes suddenly, without announcement. Her hand clasped so tightly to the boy's who lay inert upon the bed.

"It's just like Mother, all over again," Pouring forth, like a fount of woe as two tears stroll gentle trails down innocent cheeks, so long unfamiliar to such wetness. Helpless, again, as another loved one is devoured by grief. A strange, intangible mourning.

"DON'T SAY THAT!" A girl yells, hair cropped short, eyes red from tears long shed. "Don't say that, Kasumi, please," Her voice rasping as she speaks. She grasps the boys other hand tightly as well, shaking her head, her eyes clenched shut like coffin lids. She will not believe. Not of the one person who she once gave her life for. "Never say that," Words full of sobs and heaves and burning acrid saline.

A skeletal moment. Still, bare, motionless as death. Three women, all seated, waiting, praying, grieving for the living. A shadow at the door, hovering silent as a still wind. Movement, the sweeping clatter of silk on silk. A woman of elder years, looking stern, worried, as mournful as the rest.

"What has happened to my son?" Words like a puppet, expected, announced before spoken. Tense, on fragile strings they drift, awaiting an answer. Her deep blue eyes fierce, weary, worried. She steps careful, precise, graceful into the room, her stride practiced, her armor donned well and thick.

Strings cut, her expression no longer practiced. Her eyes grow wider as she sees the figure resigning itself upon the bed. Pale, troubled visage. "Kami-sama," She had expected something of an injury, a wound that could be treated. Her eyes searching desperately for a gash, an abrasion, anything that would give credence to the weak, drained look upon her dear child's ghostly features.

Motions mirror thought, Nodoka's hand tenuously drifting upwards. Fingertips brushing against gentle, rose-petal soft lips, surprise at her astonishment. Disbelieving of her shock. A thousand questions flitting from her mind like ashes rising from a fire.

"Kami-Sama, what has happened?" Emotions now, thick in her words and voice. No longer practiced, worry surfacing from the dark waters of professional detachment she had been draping around herself for some time now. Her socks whisking softly across the carpet, no matter that her knees feel weak now.

Fear was known.

Inferno blazing in eyes of earthen shade, looking upon the mother of the victim in malice. Eyes unwelcoming, procuring that this new woman is a deft intruder here. The girl with short hair grips Ranma's hands even tighter, holding onto it as if it might suddenly fade. "A girl at school attacked him emotionally, Aunty," There is barely contained anger. Akane does not know if she directs it at Nodoka, or at herself for being so cowardly as to not be there for Ranma when he needed her… needed someone.

"That cannot be all," A strange echo in the voice of the older woman, a questioning of self before her resolve solidifies once more. "Look at him, Akane! That cannot be ALL that is bothering him. He is sick," Tighter, her hands twine into the silk of the upper layer of her kimono.

"He misses him, Saotome-san," But a whisper, heard clearly though. Kuonji speaks, her eyes fixated upon her once love. Her still love, despite her own inward struggle. Hands gently resting on her lap, across a gleaming plate of metal with a 4 foot long handle… the shine of the edge waiting for an unwanted guest.

Nodoka takes a moment out of time as everything pauses. "That would not cause this, not in my Son. He is strong," Disbelief, her fingers extending, her arm reaching out to the figure on the bed as she steps closer. Warm fingers meet cold forehead, wet from a fever. The reaction is electricity, causing her hand to quickly retract from the disquieting sensation the meeting instilled.

"Are you so sure, Auntie? How can you be sure. Even I can't be sure, not anymore," When had it been last, when her eyes were dry? It seemed something of a dream. It passed her thoughts, for but a moment, that perhaps Ranma was sleeping. She felt a pang of jealousy.

Fingers, like silent dancers. Delicate tips brushing and skating along the smooth, pale surface of Ranma's cheek. I wish I could sleep. I wish I could just- let go. Fall. As inevitable as day, it dawned upon Akane that the prone, frail shell upon the bed was not only sleeping, it was leaving them all behind.

At the revelation, her eyes clench shut. She will not entertain the thought that, with but a fleeting breath, the man she loves could be gone; snuffed like a frail flame dancing upon a thin wick.

"Akane Dear, I realize how tenuous your emotions have been lately due to my Son's attitude since... the events of the prom," A silent moment, the elder woman biting her lip, perhaps unsure how to best tread upon dangerous waters. Hands locked together, one thumb rubbing across the top of the other as she summons forth the will to continue. "Regardless of this, Dear, Ranma's stamina as a martial artist keeps him in very good health. I... cannot believe that he would be this ill simply from-"

A soft whisper, cutting her words in two. Murmured from pale, unconscious lips, "Hiroshi," A gasp for air, a tired, strenuous sound from the prone man upon the bed. Fists, clenching upon the sheets.

All is quiet, still. For but a brief span, none dare to breath, hoping for hope. No further salvation is given from the once again silent figure.

"How can you not believe it, Saotome-San? Is it not obvious? Is it not plain that- that he wants him. Needs him," There is struggle in her voice, in her eyes as her hands caress the reflection of her young face staring back at her from the polished spatula across her lap. She had never quite dealt with the idea that Ranma preferred Akane, she wasn't sure if she could ever accept the idea that he preferred yet another person over herself.

Nodoka's delicate fingers trace her own cheek, a shiver traversing her spine as she brushes a stray lock of crimson hair behind one ear.

She straightens, doing best to cover her own fear for her child. Iron will, unbendable. "I cannot accept that, Kuonji-san. I cannot believe that my son would be so adversely affected due to his absence," soft, for a moment. Her face growing distant, a faint mist in her eyes as she entertains the briefest notion that she might be wronging her little one in some unforgivable way.

Her eyes return to the figure on the bed. "He chose to leave... Ranma knows that. You both know that. Even though I do not accept that love, that remains the truth. Immutable, unchangeable."

Abrupt she rises, like an angel of fierce conviction, "Don't you see, Auntie Saotome!? If it wasn't for you, if it wasn't for Hiroshi being afraid of ruining Ranma's life, of dishonoring him in front of you, he would still be here! And Ranma would still be okay!" Akane's words boil forth, weeks of frustration emerging forth once more in protection of the one man who had forever captured her heart.

Cool, with a noticeable air of sadness. Nodoka steps forwards to the younger girl, looking down at her with a very motherly expression. "Akane, don't you realize that I never factored into his plans? Hiroshi left because of you. Why not look at home before throwing stones at others. Hiroshi was your friend, as well as Ranma's. You were the one that drove him away, and you are the one to blame for this if you truly believe that this is being caused by Hiroshi's departure-"

A sharp crack, flesh meeting flesh, a hand meeting the Matrons cheek. Tears tracing down soft, young cheeks. "I Hate you." Akane trembles as she speaks, eyes downcast, bangs shadowing her face as her fists clench.

The two onlookers flinch. Soft words, spoken harsh. Nodoka's eyes widening at the words.

"I hate you," Reaffirmation, louder, clearer as she runs past Nodoka, out of the room. Choked sobs following her wake. A gentle, cold wind stirs the curtains. From whence, none know.

Itching and Burning, saline stinging her eyes. It has been a long time since Nodoka felt such a sensation, 17 years too long. 'Kami-sama," Her voice hoarse, rasping.

Complexion pale from shock, lips tight to keep her words in check, Ukyou watches the Tendou Matron's reaction. She feels her hand gripped on the handle of her spatula. Too tight... She forcibly relaxes it.

Jaw open in astonishment, dancing up and down for the brief moments after her sister's departure, Kasumi finds her hand drifting up to cover her gaping maw. "Aunt Nodoka, Are- Are you alright?" Like mice, are her words.

Hands searching. Eyes watering. Knees buckling. Nodoka takes a seat on the bed, finding herself looking at her son. His eyes closed, almost as if he might be sleeping. She felt accusation burning into her from those closed eyes, searing her soul. "It- It is not my fault. I- I have to protect our family. Our Honor, can't she see that?"

Wavering, tense and uncertain, Kasumi's voice chimes. "I am sure that she can see that, Auntie, it is just-" her words cleaved in two by the other young woman in the room, anger and fear in Ukyou's voice.

"Saotome-san, can't you see how much this is hurting Akane? All she wants is for things to go back to how they were, just like you. They can't! Everything changes, everything ALWAYS changes," yearning, sorrow in her words. She stands, her hands wrapped tightly around the hilt of her weapon, wishing that it could provide her protection against the deepest scars.

Head bowed, turmoil in her thoughts as she compares the words of the Kuonji girl with her inner voice. All I ever wanted was my son back. How could I have been so foolish, to let Genma take… everything from me?

"Why must it be about honor, Saotome-san? What is so very important that you would risk your happiness, Ranma's happiness?" Just a whisper, rasping and sore. Her words bleeding with a need for understanding, seeking what she could not find herself in the madness that was Ranma's life… that had become her life, since the day that she was left behind.

She leans on her spatula, unsure of her own footing. She had slept precious little since discovering what had transpired in her absence. Her gaze hungry upon Nodoka, needing to know what would be worth all of the suffering.

A moment. Brief, stretched out. The older woman's shoulders heave, shaking with her body. Moist eyes look up, anger and frustration in them. "Why must you all question me? It is all I have! It is all I have ever had, my honor! All I have ever had to anticipate, to wait for, to dream for, that my son honor our family heritage… that he become more than just what his father is. I am no monster!"

Burning, her voice rises, her eyes searing with an angry distress, "I am not a monster!" her body shaking with her conviction, the steel edge of them cutting into the two girls, rewarding their speaker with a deft flinch from both.

For an enduring moment, awkwardness prevails with its flailing, uncomfortable silence. Pain in her eyes, Nodoka turns, resting them back upon the sleeping figure. Her two companions giving worried, furtive glances which shift from between them, and upon the elder woman.

Heaving a sigh, Kasumi lowers her eyes. Her hands slack in her lap as her head moves from side to side. She half wonders why life is such a broken toy, before she sheds the thought. Madness lies there. "I- I must go and prepare dinner for Father and the rest."

She rises, her knees unsure and weak. In her nigh-habitual motion, flattening her apron across her skirt, a sidelong glance at Ukyou communicating her silent voiced opinion.

A nod in reception. Long, it seems, Ukyou stares at the Matron. "I can't lose him, Saotome-san," The words are raw, stripped. She swallows, her throat dry as she moves to the door.

Silently, the elder woman agrees. The two young girls leave. The sound of crying, muffled by the chest of a troubled sleeper remains in their wake.


	11. Once a Time Ago, Part 1

Impact. Clouds of dust screaming from the ground. Dull gray, it stains her Kimono. Lungs burning, she coughs, expelling the tortured pain from her breast.

Suffocating, life being shucked from her shell; clawing, grasping, desperate hands fighting to hold onto it's smoky, ephemeral substance.

Screaming in rage, she had torn it from the grasp of the cold slickness that wanted to eat her alive with its gnashing, jagged teeth of ice. Then she was falling again.

Slowly, she rises to a sitting position, looking around as she coughs. Dark. Cold. Wet. One hand rises, aligning with her face she stares. Pale, ivory light from above casting epiphany upon her; she is in mud. It is raining.

A struggle. Rising once more, she stands, head swimming in all directions before reality fractures and shatters.

Rain, pelting down upon her, a dark path winding up a steep hill. Sleep beckons, her soul weary from its sojourn and triumph over the hungry cold.

Explosion, thunder severing the quiet rhythm of the rain. It is accompanied by a rhythm of another sort, ushering her to turn and look .

Eyes widen, instincts triggering as she leaps to the side, a large black horse flashing through where she had been but a moment before. Fading, like the wind, the rider soars towards a towering palace in the distance.

Waves crash upon the cliff side, wherein the palace sits overlooking a sea. The water shining in the glistening moonlight, three spires seeming to point to the ivory orb floating in the heavens.

A thundering noise, she spins, looking up at the rise of a hill opposite the seaside palace. The ridge seems to be pulsing with the reverberations of what sounds like low pounding. Just moments, no more, and it grows to encompass the entire ridge.

Horror, terror, panic plunges through her veins as her head explodes with realization, the ridge suddenly seeming to glow. Fire. Fires, thousands of torches glimmering on the crest. Foreboding, as something inside of her whispers at the familiarity of it. Somehow.

A sliver of time as she sees a shadow, shifting in the corner of her eye, and in but a brief slice of a moment, she finds herself clasping her hands tightly around an armored figure, cloak black with a cascade of brilliant sky blue in the form of a star burst. Three white-gold bars of rank on the shoulder of the mysterious figure.

"You are a foolish woman, Voice of Aeden or not!" There is frustration of the sharp and prickly sort in the woman's voice as she reigns in her white stallion, throwing a narrowed glance at the gleaming fires upon the ridge top before turning and digging her heels into the horse's sides. "HYAH!" and the horse dives into action, galloping at a feverish pace towards the palace in the distance.

The world blurs, the rain causing everything to melt into a mass of multitudinous shades of gray.

A glance backwards, at the crest of the hill, the fires echoing the foreboding feeling which pulls at her soul.

Then forwards, taking in the guise of the strange rider who had spirited her away from where she had but moments before stood. Raven hair bound back in a tail with a deep blue sash, prepared for battle in complete armor, a sword dangling at her hip. Her appearance was not at all odd, other than her clothing, though much could not be said as her face was pointed firmly in the direction of the imposing palace.

It almost shines like a pearl, glistening from the moons bathing rays. Ranma's own eyes widen as they approached the massive structure. It's spiraling towers thrust upwards, ever upwards, as if to pierce the very heavens. It looms both ominous and beautiful.

Small huts and residences begin to whisk by in the torrential rain. The clouds moved south, towards the crested hill teeming with fire.

"It is bad that they have the cover of night, and worse that they would attack in the rain. I doubt they will wait till morning," The woman's voice is cream and silk, assisted in part by carefully hidden steel that was ready to unsheathe at any moment.

"Wh- Who?" Ranma's arms tighten around the waist of her strange companion. Confusing images and colors danced across her eyes, flashing images of another place, another time. Her heart was pounding, she does not like it so loud.

Lemons and vinegar in the raven-haired girl's laugh, turning and staring intently into Ranma's eyes with her own violet gaze, her eyes a dancing, fiery purple. "The Akuma and his army, you must have surely hurt yourself in the fall this morning if you do not remember."

"Akuma…" The word leaves the tip of her tongue as her insides seemed to turn to ice, mirroring a suddenly clammy, cold, oily feeling throughout her being.

A half remembered discussion, vague and misty, but it was about Makai and the hierarchy of demons who held residence there. The Onii; who resided as the lower class and characteristically were the servants and brute strength of Makai. The Youma or Youkai, who were the commoners largely consisting of mid level demons, merchants, the cunning survivors and quick learns.

Then there was the Akuma, lords and noble blood of Makai. The most dangerous and most feared, those who had been alive since the darkness had tainted that world. Those who would live on into eternity, death unable to claim their polluted souls.

A stretch of lightning suddenly casts fire white illumination across the cloud-darkened landscape, dancing upon the tip of the single, tallest spire in the looming palace. A conduit between heaven and earth.

Vague, dirtied faces flash by her vision. Concern, curiosity, contemplation, callous contempt. In each set of eyes, there was ambiguous recognition of her. Her mind flits about, wondering why so many seem to know of her. Who is she supposed to be?

Quickly, faces flash by, vanishing as the stranger prods the horse on to the palace. The Pace is feverish, the beast's eyes wide, nostrils flaring.

"You almost scared me to death, vanishing like that. What was I to say to Aerinn, his bride having just vanished with no word!?" Anger, fury, concern shift quickly through the voice of the strange, armored woman. Tears, held on the brink, translated through her carefully controlled vocal gesticulations.

Flashes, almost shadows of memories. A young girl, laughing, playing beside her in a meadow. Down by the temple. Were these hers? "I- I don't-"

"Do not! Just do not, Myrian!" Sharp as a razor, her words cut. The horse suddenly rises, whinnying in a dowl, deathly manner.

A blinking moment, finding an arm wrapped around her petite waist as she and the armored woman sail through the air. The world spinning as the stranger flips and lands delicately on the ground as the horse collapses at the foot of the palace gates.

The armored woman held Ranma delicately in her arms, with a care and caution that whispers of many familiar years between them; One cradling her legs, the other draped across her back. Her feminine build belies her obvious strength.

Brief, like wind. Smoothly, the strange woman lets the slight redhead drift to the ground. Arms encircling protectively.

Reaching out, Ranma's hand drifts towards the fallen animal. Sorrow seems to swell in her at the beasts dying, final shudder. Moist eyes befoul her.

A gloved hand clasps her outstretched wrist, pulling her away from the wretched beast. "It is dead, Myr. We don't have time to stop and mourn horses now, my god Myr, don't you realize what is going on!?"

Shaking, trembling, shivering. Who is Myr? Myrian? Was she Myrian? No. She bobs her head to and fro. "I- I don't know what's going on!"

The woman returns her gaze, looking at her with eyes full of fear. She brings a hand up hesitantly, stroking the soft flesh of Ranma's cheek. "Myr… they're coming to kill you. Dhim and his damn army," She spits the last, a cursed name, snatching her half forgotten hand back from Ranma's cheek.

"I- I don't-" Pain, throbbing in her skull. The color of words, the flavor of images, the scent of touch. "Rhiannon-?" The imbibed name is half shadow, with the consistency of mist within her mind. However, there is something familiar...

A half-smile flits across the woman's face, a twinge of worry in her expression. "You're having another one again, aren't you Myr?" She looks into Ranma's eyes for some sign of recognition. Within those dark blue orbs she delves, searching for a familiar shard of spirit within that dreamlike gaze bestowed upon her by the slight redhead in her embrace.

Then, a sad nod as she recognizes an unfamiliar light in Ranma's eyes.

Ranma knows not where the name arose from, writhing, tearing from the forgotten depths of her soul, perhaps from the soul of the girl she now inhabits. "I- I'm sorry. I am a stranger here.' Elsewhere, mere moments before. A darkness, swallowing her whole, devouring her soul.

Closer, Ranma clings unto the strange woman cradling her. Immense cold seeping into the pores of her body, the marrow of her bones. "C- c –cold," she mouths inaudibly.

A brief mask of realization, quickly submerged in resolution flits across Rhiannon's face. "Do not worry, Myr. The darkness cannot find you so long as I survive."

Darkness reinvents the image of a vast gaping nothing, set to devour Ranma's soul. Such an image draws a soft whimper from the huddled form in Rhiannon's arms.

Clicking. A pair of boots, resounding against the pavement.

Rhiannon turns towards the approaching man. His uniform is carefully cultivated and unsmudged, as are his features. His eyes gaze off as toward some distant horizon, though the feel of him says he is quite aware of everything around him.

"Lady Rhiannon, your presence is requested by the-" His words pause, haltingly, from their fluid movement. His jaw snaps shut a moment as he takes note of the silent figure in Rhiannon's arms, who is likewise sizing him up.

A snuffle, or harrumph, is voiced beneath his breath. "I see that you have found The Mistress Voice. That will annul one particular reason for your summons, but it is urgent that you both return to the Circle."

Such as a column of fire springs forth from nothing, her words spill outwards, "My name is Myrian!" Her conviction stuns both the uniformed gentleman, as well as herself. Moreso by the fact that the name is intermingled with memories of another life, which seems so close and yet distant.

Comforting arms tighten around her waist, the woman Rhiannon's response to her outcry. "Aduin, your candor is most respectable, know that her Voice is not angry with you."

Smoothly, methodically he caresses the jet black handlebar mustache which compliments his tight features, "As well she should not be! Voice would do well to note that I am, at all times, at her service. Sworn to her protection, as my father and his father before him, down the line of-"

Cut, a firm tone interrupting Aduin's proclamations, "Aduin, while a history lesson might seem all well and good to you, her Lady's Swordmistress might REMIND you that we are on the verge of wholesale slaughter!"

A slice of time, as the man's face takes on a shade of red. He bows in a hasty, stifling manner. The motion creates the image of a marionette in Ranma's mind. "Her will be done, by the Swordmistress' bidding. Follow, follow, all day is but wasted in moments."

He turns, as practiced and precise as before, marching towards the gates with a purposefulness.

There is a strange emptiness permeating Ranma's soul. "Why do they call me the Voice or Mistress Voice, Rhiannon?"

A sad smile is proffered, as the taller woman's hand caresses the silken tresses of the petite redhead. "Duty, Myr."

Softly, she prompts Ranma to move onward with her, following Aduin's lead. "Miserable duty… and destiny."


	12. Lessons Long Lost

Gray patches of light dance across the curtains, the faint sound of chimes drifting in the wind. The air is cool, moist as the wind stirs the drapes in a gentle caress.

Ticking. The faint rhythm echoing in the silence of the room. Its origin can be traced to the small alarm clock beside two futons. Nine-fourty-five and twenty four seconds.

The soft smell of jasmine incense wafts on the gentle breeze, giving life to the otherwise drab surroundings. Sparse, the contents of the room would take but a few moments to stuff into a satchel before it's occupants vanished once more into the mists of the Japanese forests.

Solemn. A man sits, transfixed upon some inner turmoil, his breathing slow and purposeful. The jasmine relaxes him, giving him calm and peace required for such mental exercises as he now endures. A bead of sweat rolls down his brow, having escaped the bandanna wrapped tightly around his balding skull.

Struggle. His face growing slack as even the soft spray of droplets upon the roof fades to nothing, and the world drifts to darkness around him. No heat, no cold, simply emptiness.

It is a mirror of his inner state, purging thought and motion from his body and mind, giving over to the shape of stillness. It had been decades since he had stopped the practice, ever since an old man had taken him under his wing as apprentice and student.

Inversion. His ki, glowing faintly to those who are able, winks out, exploring the inner turmoils of his spirit. Searching for illnesses of both flesh and spirit.

A soft wheezing sound pierces his meditation, his jaw clenching suddenly. Foreboding.

Absently, he picks at the seam of his gi. His mind willing the noise to cease, to fade off into the blackness of nothing as all other distractions have.

It persists.

Not again, please. His will falters, his body trembling in fear of the vision that might befall his eyes were he to dare open them, a vision common as of late. A poltergeist; a shadow of the past.

The sound heightens in its volume, persistent as the wind. Still, he balks. This is a dead thing, something of the past, something that cannot hurt you anymore.

Still, the harsh wheezing drifts to his ears, burning them with the image of his Father. Bedridden and ill, his Father had spent the last few years of his life refusing help from doctors and family, stubborn and unwilling to admit weakness.

With fear, his eyes finally open. Muscles tense, and ki flickers uncertainly. It was as a hundred times before, of late. The luminance of his Otousan's bedroom did not wash the gray away from the old, faded memory.

Curtains block his vision of the skeletal form his father must surely resemble, in his last year of life. His body had wasted away, muscles twisted painfully… even his bones had begun malformed cancerous growths, only adding to the pain he must surely have felt.

The wheezing continued burning into Genma's ears.

"No, No, I am not going to watch this again!" clenching his fists, his mouth stuttering open and closed for a moment before he raised one hand, shaking it at the heavens. "Do you hear me, damn you? I will not go through this again!"

The only answer he received was the continuance of the feared sound, rhythmic and repetitive. He could almost liken it to the gasping of his darkened soul, the prices he paid for his son.

Flying to the door, he strived for the handle, only wailing as his hand passed through it. "Let me out! Let me out, you damn mad demon! I- I don't want this!"

"Demon? No." A silvery voice whispered softly from behind him.

Whirling, he pressed his back against the door. Solid enough, despite the handle. His eyes danced over the familiar haunt, the specter who has begun haunting him, as of only a few months ago.

"Hello again, Gakusei," The slight glow of his violet eyes was all that permeated the shadows of his silver hood, arms crossed across his chest, hidden beneath the voluminous sleeves of his robes.

The voice, decidedly male, but also beautiful in a manner beyond gender. Like silver wind.

Cold. Piercing through him with a certain kind of dread, Genma's nails scrape across the grain of the door as his heart thunders within his chest. "I am not your student!" His words angry, heat in them as he lunges at the robed man.

As many times before, he meets only with the cold floor.

"Must we truly go through this every time? We all learn, and are in a process of learning. We are, each, students within the Divine's temple," The man's voice echoes from behind Genma, just as many times before.

There is a calm acquiescence to the stranger's voice, as if there is no disagreement only mutual misunderstanding which has been long resolved. He uses a familiarity in his tone that hints at a long friendship with Genma, though Genma has never met the stranger except in troubled sleep and moments of solitude.

It makes him question his own sanity. How can he even be sure he was "Seeing" this stranger? There was never a person in the room with him when the visitations happened. Most had happened in the silence of his own skull, during meditation or fitful sleep.

But not all.

A moment. Genma realizes that the stranger's hand is extended towards him, ivory colored, with a soft moonlike glow. "It is not my wish to torment you, Saotome Genma."

Scorning the offer, he rises on his own, dusting his gi off, eyes half lidded and avoiding the strange gaze of the cloaked visitor. "Oh yeah? Then why do you do this?" His hand flies up, gesturing towards the wheezing which still echoes from the bed. "Why do you always bring this to me? Why do you bring ME to HERE?"

There is a tremble in his voice, a shaking in his body. The calm, almost pristine look in the stranger's eyes only fills with sorrow.

"I do not summon these images, Gakusei. It is you who has brought us here, here to the root of your son's suffering. It is always you," His arms once more vanish into the folds of his voluminous sleeves as he crosses them once more.

"This has nothing to do with my son!" He longs to grasp the invader, to shake him from his mind, to lock such thoughts from invasion.

Yet he cannot touch him.

"But it does, Genma. It does. You cannot accept that yet, after you have come so far?" Softly, the stranger extends a hand, placing it as if a feather upon Genma's broad shoulder.

Genma feels the sting of sorrow in his soul as he gazes through the thinly veiled curtains around the bed. "You told me you knew how to cure my son."

"I do… but not of the Jusenkyou curse. You do not understand the nature of such magic. I am helping your son as I speak," There is no shock when Genma bats his hand away.

"Liar! You lied to me! I- I did what you told me, I try to protect him from his mother, I try to support him. Why do I have to do this?" His teeth clench, his eyes screwed shut for a moment. His fists open and close in frustration.

Click. A thought cascades into the stream of his consciousness. A low growl crawls forth from his grinding teeth, "What are you doing to my son?!"

How do I know he isn't the same demon sucking the life from Ranma right now!? A vision, his son being carried unconscious into the house by the Kuonji girl and Akane.

"Do not make haste with accusations, Saotome Genma," His voice does not lower, the level of it does not resound, but there is a strange piercing quality to his statement. There has been no change in how he speaks, so softly and with careful purchase to each word.

Yet somehow there is command in his voice.

"You have done enough of that in your life, do you not think?" Again, his words speak of a familiarity which puzzles Genma. It conveyed forth from the dredges of his memories all the times he had pushed blame from himself, finding convenient reasons to avoid responsibility.

"This is not about me, this is about Ranma," At a time, he might have considered his own life more important than anything else. It is only recently that he realized the importance of his son, his future.

It is only recently that he realized how deadly and deceiving the road to hell is.

Speculation. The figure considers him for a long, resolute moment. "Yes, of course. This is all about your child, but I would not abide myself if I were to help just him."

"You sound as if you want me to believe you are some sort of good Samaritan," Genma does not believe it. Hours on end of tormented past, each visit culminating in his dismissal of the person behind that curtain.

Each visit beginning with the expressed need to confront that person, from this strange cloaked visitor. This invader of the soul.

A tightness, marking the violet eyes of the robed one. For a moment, those eyes look dreadfully old… as if they have seen the dust of countless millennia, remnants of ancient worlds.

"I do what I must, as decreed to me. I work for your salvation, and Ranma's. If I were to cease my assistance, darkness would devour your child's soul… and it would all be over before it has even begun." Tired, says his voice. Lonely, says his eyes.

For a brief moment, those eyes turn from Genma, staring upon the shrouded bed, but not seeing it. "Sacrifice is something I am not amiss of, like you, I once had much and could want for none. Like you, fate can change on a dime the path we must tread."

Short. Genma almost considers this strange invader as having emotions. Desires. A life. Discarded, he gives forth a sharp noise of dismissal, "What makes you think I care about your sorrow, Demon?"

Torment. All that has been brought to him by the man with the violet eyes. His life had been shattered with Hiroshi, and the shards driven deep by this beast who haunts his thoughts.

"Oh, Genma," Fatigue shudders through the lone figure. "My sorrow is so very intrinsically linked to what is happening to your son. My own shame, and my own weakness."

New strength seems to renew itself in the man's form as his shoulders rise. "Which is why you must confront this, your father. It is with this that you shall save your son, when this first trial is finished."

Stillness. Standing, his back to Genma, the stranger for a moment reminiscing it seems of some far off time. He spins, once more bestowing his azure gaze upon the Saotome patriarch.

There is obstinacy in Genma's stance, hesitance in his posture. Hidden past shrouded in darkness, that which he so fears and dreads to face. Words from a dead man.

Likened to some grim ghost of long ago, the stranger raises a hand, pointing at the thinly veiled bed and the occupant upon it. "Go now, and be you aware of the truth, Gakusei."

Frozen in time, the draped figure stands motionless, awaiting a movement of compliance from Genma.

It is different. The difference unnerving, never so blatantly and firmly has the figure insisted upon the confrontation. Genma is suddenly aware that he either faces this moment of his past or he shall be confined here until he chooses to do so.

Inside, the coward pipes, "You owe this creature nothing, and he is foolish if he believes you will be pushed into doing this!" As many times before of late. Whenever confronted with the vision of this scene, always his soul ran away.

He's been running away for so long, he isn't sure if he knows how to walk forwards.

A slow, slithering shudder ripples through Genma Saotome as he takes first one step, then the next towards the veil. The quiet sliding of his slippers on the lacquered wooden floor almost akin to the sound of metal on metal, for all the silence about.

His heart softly thrums in his chest, the individual beats becoming more audible with each passing step. The cloth before him, it's texture and design similar to cheesecloth, something obscuring but transparent.

He turns, praying to the heavens that the strange figure might have forgotten him, that it might have vanished… but he finds him there, standing, arm outstretched in a firm gesture of charge. As silent as a statue, as immovable as a mountain, and as intangible as the wind.

Untouchable.

"Must I-" he begins, knowing the answer already, fearing it.

"Yes." The answer, short, low, almost inaudible. For all that it is not, it is resounding to the soul of Genma Saotome.

And so he turns, and with thundering heart, pulls away the veil.

_A boy, no more than seventeen and no less than fifteen. Stocky, with a firm build and a body that speaks of many arduous hours of physical labor and training._

There is a deadly calm pallor to his surroundings, bled dry of any emotional colors over the decades of forgetting. However toneless the colors, there is painful familiarity to even the most minute of details.

_The smell of impending death hangs upon the air. His father, Saotome Sensou, lying prone upon the bed._

_His body a mass of half-hanging clothing, he resembles not much more than a bundle of twigs… a misshapen bundle of twigs, knobby growths causing lumps to form on his bones in sporadic places. It has been long since the look in his eyes began to take on a fire that was almost defiant of pain._

_It is not long now, until the old man's death. Yasuka was out, as she always was. She couldn't bear to see father as he was now. She had always had difficulty around him, unable to deal with the painful visage he appeared to be._

_Shizuka was also gone, no doubt with Yasuka. Father had ordered her to stop taking care of him, his words far less polite than Genma would have liked to remember, demeaning the innocent woman simply out of anger and pain._

_So it was left to him to take care of Mother's last wish, that someone be there for Sensou when he did pass. It was not abnormal for a family member to be present, though it was for so many to be absent. It was also abnormal the importance Genma's mother had placed on this request. Genma hadn't known his mother… she had left only letters to him, all of varying lengths._

Genma knows that she must have died painfully as well. Father refused to speak of it. But then, he never spoke of his own pain either, only of his son's failings.

The true irony of it was that Genma, the only one present with his father, was the last the old man wanted to see.

_The coughing brings him back to the moment. The small, frail figure on the bed opens bloodshot eyes and takes him in. "Get away from me, boy," the words are breathed out, accompanied by a fit of weak, anemic coughing._

_The words are familiar, and have been spoken so many times to Genma that he had thought he had forgotten the pain they caused in him. Yet it is as if they were freshly new, with his Father so close to death, all that he could say was for his son to get away?_

_"Father, I cannot. I will not leave you," The words are difficult, made more so with the angry flare that flitted across the clouded irises of his father's eyes._

_"You are the last piece of trash I want to see before I die, boy," The coughing, no less weak, goes on for longer than it normally would._

_Genma dabs carefully at the blood which is being coughed up, and offense is intensified as the weak, bony arms push away his touch. "Get away from me, you filth… what must I say to make you understand? You are not wanted."_

_The hurt is too much, the boys body shaking, "I suppose I have never been wanted, that I was simply a horrible mistake." Always, his father had spoken of how disappointing Genma was. It had been true as far as he could remember, his father held some kind of secret, horrible hatred for him._

_For a moment, Genma thinks that perhaps the old man was going to say something, as those eyes looked away from him, the small body beneath the sheets quaking as if from sorrow. "Yes, that is right," The words stab him, tearing at his soul. He wished that it was only his imagination that made them weak, almost inaudible._

_But it was not strange for his father to feel this way… after all, he could not say much for himself either. If only that weakness of voice were a reluctant lie._

_"I am sorry that you had to have such a shameful son, Otousan," It was all he could say, how he felt can't be conveyed. Not to this frail, almost ghostly figure, who not moments from now would be departing this living world. It would not be fair for him to attack the man who gave him life, not in this state._

_The wheezing, painful sounding laugh wracks the small form of Saotome Sensou. "You are so weak and pathetic, Genma, you do not even have any anger for me when I say that. Shameful," There's almost an indefinable touch of sorrow in the words, as if somehow Sensou were responsible for the state of things._

_"I cannot hate you, Otousan. It would be unfair, you being as sick as you are-"_

_"Shutup, boy. Just shut up," The answer has strength, conviction. It was louder than his father had spoken in a long time. "I was not always this… this thing. I was once a man, was once…"_

_It was several minutes before the coughing was quiet enough to speak again, his father having snatched the cloth from his hand as spatters of blood and bits of lung were being ejected from him._

_"I- It is my fault, Father. I know there is a cure, there has to be… I should have looked harder, I should have found it, I am weak, and stupid," his own failing was reprehensible. How could he call himself a warrior, a martial artist, when he could not even help his ailing father?_

_"You are right about stupid, boy, there is no cure for what has happened to me. You were an idiot to go and look for one," The soft, rhythmic wheezing sounded almost painfully dry and grating, even to Genma's ears. His father was lying very still all of a sudden, the breathing becoming shallower, longer between breaths._

_"Father, please, don't go. I will try again, please, let me do what I can," How could he live, a weak, pathetic shell of a man? How could he raise his own family?_

_A gnarled, warped hand rises… reaching with searching fingers, eyes glassy as if on some horrible distant inferno._

_So very gently he took the hand, leaning in to listen to his father's words, "Otousan…"_

_"It was my fault, Genma. Not yours. This is my curse… for my selfishness, my greed. Bargain kept…" the sound is almost as if his whole body were deflating, a very soft, slow leaking out of his life force. His words delirious, his mind already slipping from this realm._

_Tears formed in the eyes of the young man, "Otousan, do not say that. I know that I failed you, do not die without the chance for me to redeem myself."_

_"I- F-f-Failed… G-en-ma. Do not… Be- me," The words patchy, sporadic. He was not sure if he had heard it all, if his father had said anything._

_Then silence, not even the patterned breathing is audible. All he was aware of is how numb and unreal the minutes up till then had been, and he could not believe anything had actually happened._

_Still, there was the body of his father… dead, and gone. The painful words of his passing were locked inside his heart, dusted beneath the carpets of his brain. His father had never said a word of kindness to him his entire life, why should he when he died?_

_He had obviously imagined it. Didn't he?_

All is dark. The cool feel of lacquered wood beneath his hands, kneeling upon the floor as his body shakes with unexpressed emotion.

"All is as it was, Saotome Genma. What you heard was what was said, and what had been said. There is far more for you to understand, but now… now is not the time," The figure stands as a solemn specter above him.

Some part of him hated the ghost, wishing nothing but anger and torment at it. To put him through the dying moments of his father, to remind him of his own weaknesses and faults. It could be nothing less than a demon.

"Get away from me," His voice is raw, angry. Stripped of his self control, he rises suddenly, aiming a fist at the chest of the robed figure.

His hand collides painfully with the palm of the stranger.

"Do not strike that which you cannot understand, for you may be striking a blow to yourself in the process," It is as before, his voice does not rise nor lower. The inflection doesn't ascend nor fall in anger or displeasure.

Yet there is silent command in those gentle, silvery tones.

Shock registers upon Genma's face, it was not possible for the robed man to have blocked him. The speed of the punch was magnified by his skills in the Yamisenken and Umisenken, and focused by his anger and rage, "Who are you?"

"I am as I have always been, and shall always be. I am what is, and what was, and what will be again. I am nought but a shadow of a fractured spirit, bent upon a lone road of solitude and duty," His answer is recited, as a litany repeated a thousand times before. Honor and faith are fed into the words, conviction and certainty come out of them.

His anger rising again, Genma pulls his fist from the grip of the tall stranger. "What sort of answer is that? I demand answers! You have no right to do this to me and not give me something." Despite himself, Genma retreats a few steps… erring on the side of caution.

Carefully, he is considered for a moment with those soulful purple eyes. "Yes, yes, you do deserve something. I have put you through a great deal with our visits."

Genma notices, suddenly, the ashen glow dancing upon the palm of the strange figure. An ivory and blue flame dancing gently upon the unburning flesh of the visitor. It's motion makes him feel even more uneasy with the strangers presence.

"This I shall tell you… your father lived in pain for many years, and that pain was served by your birth. Many years of lies, you have heard Genma Saotome. Many years, but his last words are most important for you to recall. Do not become him. Remember that… and your soul will be clean when your day comes. For this, it is not too late. You have erred so badly until now, chance not the burdens your father wore. Discard such sins before they engulf you," His words begin to echo amidst the vast expanse of darkness.

As intangible as his words are, so does he become. Fading off as he speaks, into the drift of darkness.

"Remember this, Genma Saotome, and Learn," Those last few words so hauntingly scarce as to remind Genma of those briefly gasped syllables before an old, hate filled man deflated into whatever afterlife awaited him.

And then he was alone.


	13. The Lark and Nightingale

Grey light hangs in the air, vapid and lifeless; giving expression to the sensation of solitude heavy in the impermeable cloud of feeling shrouding the Tendou Doujo. The cobblestone walkway is dark with rain, the air sharp in its intensity.

Shining, two sets of eyes give pause; the still air hanging in wait of some event, it would seem. One set had visited and revisited these familiar walls countless times before, the other fresh and virgin to the Doujo. One set having committed memories of this place, moments caught in a span of time, memorable and ephemeral in the same instant. The other having heard only of those wistful recollections through the mind's eye of the first.

The wind idles, seeming infrequent in its decision of strength, teasing at the ruffled, travel-worn bangs of a one Ryouga Hibiki. He ignores the wind, oblivious of its chill; accustomed to it from long hours in cold fields with no roof to speak of. In truth, he hardly notices the wind, his boon companion on countless journeys. Such a wind seems bourn directly to his soul, which echoes such vagabond dreams that float on the breeze to unknown locations.

Her arms tighten around Ryouga's oak-strong limb, her brow creased with an edgy curiosity. Her heart beats audibly in her ear. She has never visited the Doujo before, but from midnight words and idle, half spoken dreams she realizes that the spirit of this place was not well. Where reminiscent whispers of a place her love called home (Or, rather, the closest home he had ever found) brought images of lighthearted laughter and silly antics, the feel in the air belies such words.

"Quiet," He notes, standing stiffly, umbrella tucked under his free arm. Lowering his gaze, his eyes look elsewhere, inside and far away. "Things were never so quiet," It is said as a whisper, low, and partly to himself. He shakes his head, gritting his teeth as he clenches his eyes. A part of him wishes some purchase, a place to seat his frustration and anger. Too long as of late he had pushed those feelings into a box for Ranma; whether deserving or not of such tumultuous heart.

"I know, it feels- off somehow. As if something is lost," Akari Unryuu squeezes her love's left bicep with her arms, eyes closed briefly in thought before she bestows him with a loving glance. "Ryouga, are you sure you are alright?" She stands close to him, wary and suspicious of these new surroundings. An ominous, foreboding spirit edging out from the walls of the household.

"Heh," He smiles briefly, a wistful look in his eyes. "They're my family, Akari. I'll be fine, but it is so hard to see-," He snaps his jaw shut, a low, feral growl rumbling deep in his chest. Then calm, a solicitous sagaciousness falls over him. "Well, we should probably go and knock before it starts to snow." Perhaps he answers too quickly, as he banishes flaring bursts of images from the recent past. The glimmer of two lovers kissing flits across ever so briefly his inner eye.

A nod; brief, brisk. Gently, she releases some of the tension, letting go of a breath she hadn't known she was holding. Her grip is softer on her love's arm, and she turns; patting Katsunishiki gently on his snout, "Stay here, boy. We'll be back soon." She musters her most cheerful tone of voice; no sense to make her prize sumo pig uncomfortable.

A snort in reply to her gesture and Katsunishiki settles down to rest for a bit on the street. The concerns of his master inconsequential, though his stomach grumbles lightly; it had been a while since they had stopped for food.

The soft whisking of Chinese slippers brushing against the cobble walkway mixed with the quiet clicking of Akari's heel usher them past the front gate. Both eyes wander about the yard, soaked and muddy, the grass brown from the constant barrage from the sky and the almost frosty coldness hanging in the air. Briefly, she clings to him again; the quiet in the air almost stifling. Still, there is something else; muffled crying?

A sudden stop, Akari looks back at her raven-haired vagabond; curious as to his pause.

Gently, he grins, hand reaching out to touch the mended wall of the training hall. His eyes glimmered with the brilliant light of old memories, where laughter and friendship were simple and young. "With all the trouble, I've always wondered why you never asked me why."

"Why?" She blinks, turning and looking at her melancholy knight. She reaches out softly, touching the back of his hand as it traces the scars of old times, written heavily upon the building.

He grins lightly, turning and staring back at her. His hand twines in hers, "Why I keep coming back." He studies her features, seemingly fascinated in every small detail of her.

A quirky, sidelong smile as she tilts her head, "Oh, I know why, silly. You love them; that's why. You may fight and argue and get angry, but they're family, you don't have to explain."

Reaching out, he snatches her other hand, his eyes taking on a serious look. "It isn't only that, Akari, it's that I-" He pauses looking up as the sky rumbles ominously at him. It would figure… damn you, you're going to wait! His thoughts projected at the sky. When was the last time he just stood in the rain?

"I always find my way back here." His voice wavers lightly, had he ever felt so alive anywhere else? Had he ever felt like he belonged? It is such a lonely, meager existence; to live on the road. Before Ranma, there had only been the fear of getting lost. After, he had something else to lose.

There was no need for response, Akari stepped close, the smell of her hair carrying to his senses as she embraced him, holding him for a moment. Such a fragile girl; it is so strange to him that she cares so much.

Peace, descending once more like a veil across his features, his arms wrapping around her, "Thank you, Akari, for coming with me."

"I wanted to come, Ryouga-chan," She whispers in his ear, pulling back slightly, she smiles up at him, her arms draped around his neck. At times, she was unbelievably sweet. He recalls a time when he had lived in fear of revealing himself to people, with twin curses, it was a hazard to pursue loving relationships… but all the more needed. Her head tilts, a small quirk at the corner of her mouth displaying her careful, patient support. She tugs lightly on his bandana before pulling away, taking his hand up once more.

Both are silent, walking with one hand twined in the others. For a moment, they both breathe deeply, standing at the stoop of the Tendou Residence. Exchanging sidelong glances, they nod at each other; determination writ large on their features.

Reaching through the distance, Akari presses the round tab of the doorbell; the distant, muffled sound echoes through the quiet halls of the household. Likewise muffled, a gentle voice cries out through that distance, "Coming!"

Tension; Ryouga looks unsurely at Akari. Release spreads over him as she smiles calmly. You are always so calm, Akari. Such a contrast with my heated temper.

"J-Just a minute!" Echoes through the barrier of the door, followed by the sound of a chain being released and a bolt shifting, trailed by the door sliding soundlessly open. Kasumi shifts eyes from Ryouga to Akari, a gentle, courteous smile pasted on her somewhat weathered expression. The gleam in her eyes has gone out; all that remains is a tired dullness.

"Ahhh, Ryouga-san. Welcome back!" Whilst her tone speaks cheerfulness, she cannot hide the exhaustion from Ryouga's ears; something that had never occurred according to his brief recollections of Kasumi. Always the bright beacon through the standing storm, it seemed almost ready to flicker and die.

Ryouga bowed cordially, "Konnichiwa, Kasumi-san. I am sorry for the late call," As he rises, he spares a glance at Akari, wondering if she too had noticed.

Akari blushed, looking from him to the Tendou girl. Kasumi's smile has slipped some, replaced with that small manner of worry, one of her fingers scratches at the fabric of her dress; a nervous habit. She has noticed.

"Oh, it's alright, Ryouga-san. We're friends, and it IS nice to see you. With everything that has been going on, it's relieving to have guests," The weary tone of her voice ebbs a bit, Kasumi always at her best when she is taking care of others.

Akari mirrors Ryouga's action mere moments ago, bowing politely, "Hello, Kasumi-san. It's a pleasure to meet you." Rising, Akari favors Ryouga with a supportive smile, her fingers scratch a bit on the fabric of her dress in a strange mirroring of Kasumi's nervous expression.

A bright, cheerful smile graces Kasumi's face as she bows gracefully; Her smile contrasted by the worn, tired expression she wears. "Ah, you must be Akari. Ryouga's spoken very highly about you, I am honored to meet you at last."

"Oh, Ryouga has also spoken very highly of you. I am honored to meet one who takes such careful stewardship of her family," Akari blinks at the flinch she receives for her comment, curious as to why her words would sting. From all she knows, Kasumi is a caring, compassionate person.

For half a moment, embarrassment colors Ryouga's cheeks. Being the subject of discussion, while remaining present, briefly chaffing his own sensibilities. Kasumi tangles her fingers in her apron and casts her eyes downward. A hint of tears gleams in her eyes, not unnoticed by him.

Release; Kasumi shakes her head, "I'm sorry, I should ask you in… it is cold outside, please," The door opens further, Kasumi gesturing politely for the guests to enter. Her smile seems fixed, as if she would break were she to stop. Surprisingly, the feel of tension inside the house stronger than outside, thick as gravy.

A mutual glance and nod, both stepping slowly inside. How am I supposed to deal with this? Things must be bad if Kasumi is this way. Damn you, Ranma, why can you never make easy problems for yourself?! Gritting his teeth, Ryouga pushes those feelings to the back of his mind; more important now to concentrate on the current situation. Besides which, he had been trying to minimize his habit of blaming his archrival.

Kasumi's hands drift across her apron, smoothing invisible creases before pausing; she looks at her hands for a moment, as if unsure what to do with them before clasping them together in front of herself. "I apologize if I am a bit out of sorts, you see, we've been having a bit of-"

Akari shakes her head, raising her hand and waving it in an assuaging manner, "Yes, Ryouga was telling me a bit about it," She squeezes Ryouga's hand as she speaks, turning a sidelong smile to him; a silent message that she is alright, despite the strange feeling in the air.

Kasumi's eyes dart from Ryouga back to Akari, a tinge of worry drifting idly across her eyes before dissipating, "Ah, I see."

Letting Ryouga's hand free, Akari folds at the waist; bowing low unto the eldest of the Tendou Daughters. Her hands curl in the folds of her dress as she grips the sturdy cotton firmly. "I don't mean to be imposing, having just met you, but-," She let the sentence fall, awaiting some response from the chestnut haired matriarch of the Tendou household. Had her voice wavered slightly?

Kasumi lets out a heavy sigh, her face taking on a pained expression before she shakes her head, smiling once more. "Oh, don't worry. Do you need something? I'd be glad to get anything for you. Maybe you are hungry from the trip?" There is a slight rise of joy in her offer, an expression reflected in her desire to tend and please others. A desire to help and to nurture.

Akari flutters her eyes as she realizes it had been that morning since she last ate, the premise both appealing as well as a distraction from what concerned her, "Well, yes I am a bit famished, but I was wondering if I might speak with you a bit." The longer she stood amidst these feelings of tension, the more she felt herself slip aside from them… a strange Zen-like calm shrouding every thought. She was in no danger here, an innocent such as her. If anything, she could serve more as a healer than one to add to the fury of this storm.

Kasumi senses the implication, uncertain if others in the house would approve of her vocalization of the trepidatious circumstances hanging over them all, "Ah- well, I- I'm not sure-," She recollects briefly that the last one who attempted to help untangle the mess around the household had brought about the very shadow which hung over them as a pall.

A struggle within ensues, a brief flash of Kasumi's mother flits across her mind's eye; gentle eyes and a warm smile that rivaled the radiance of Amaterasu herself. These things Kasumi Tendou has strived to honor in her mother; the warm loving spirit which persisted even to her last breath.

Yet a part of Kasumi is just as equally conflicted with that love, the paradox of Hiroshi's heart casting Kasumi's own emotions into turmoil, pandemonium. Her mother healed all ills with love, love itself kept the family whole and together long after they had begun to fracture into their own microcosms. Kasumi now feels as if the world of love her Mother had carefully crafted dares suddenly to come crashing down around her; she grasps with all the strength within her to hold onto but a single hair-thread of that once untarnished ideal.

Akari breathes in, sensing that Kasumi could fall from hope at any moment, a deep breath of the thickness clogging the spirit of the Doujo. Then out, as she lets her eyes slide closed, as if a gentle hand had been placed softly against her back, pushing her forward. She finds the will to speak through the heaviness saturating the ambiance, "It would only be a moment."

Ryouga looks between the two, even while he fights the urge to seek out his once-rival and ascertain the threat that hung like a bleeding knife in mid-air. His sharpened senses detected the thick tang of fear, bottomless sorrow, and a disjointed sense of loss. There were tears in the air, somewhere. More suspicious was the lack of company at the door. Where were the others?

Kasumi lifts her eyes briefly, chancing a glance into Akari's deep and soulful eyes. There, she sees a quiet seclusion; a spirit apart from the sorrows and sadness yet suddenly cast into them. Therein, she finds a strange sort of peace, and a look she knew quite well in her own demeanor; a gleam which speaks that all shall be made well in the end, such sorrows are fleeting. In that strange simulacrum of her own once unflappable grace, she feels herself grip harder to the dreams of a long dead woman, "Hai, I suppose it would be good to speak to someone uninvolved," Kasumi feels strength enough to smile, through the sharp edges that had begun to etch her face in concern and worry.

Akari's smile does not change, even though her eyes flash momentarily with relief. Her first worry was that she would be turned away, she found the tension in her back ebbing with the worry. Somehow, she senses she can make a small difference here, with Kasumi. Casting her eyes to her paramour, she notes his intensity as he also seems engulfed in the feeling permeating the walls. She turns back to Kasumi, her smile widening a bit, she is not worried for him… she knows he can tend to himself. She speaks quietly, with gentle and easing tones, "Ryouga has told me a bit about it. I do not mean to pry, Tendou-san, but are you well?"

Ryougas eyes return to Akari with her words, noting how she seems so apart from everything, he feels his soul ease somewhat. There is a frantic beating at the doors of his mind, urging him to seek out the trouble and confront it with extreme prejudice. Yet here, he watches her, strangely poised and untouched by the misery. It bolsters his soul, whatever was going on, there was always a solution; this her smile said to him.

Kasumi's voice cracks as her brows curl, her eyes fending off the misty tears threatening to overwhelm the stockades of her staunch grimness, "I- I am fine. Why, don't I seem fine?" Her voice quavers and quells as she swallows, wondering if it was so easy for others to see her weakness, her inability to heal the hurts of those around her. She wonders, is she only capable of putting a good face on bad situations? Was she just too weak to fix anything?

Akari shakes her head, closing her eyes once more as she breathes in, then out. "Iie, you seem on edge… I would like to help, even if all I may do is listen," Sometimes, an ear is all some need in order to begin healing. Akari had grown up on a farm in the country, a very different place than the hustle and bustle of city life. A place where the rhythm of life may still be heard, seen, felt.

"Like to- help," Kasumi mouths, as if the words are strange to her. Recently, those words have struck a blow to her whole family. Yet, it wasn't Hiroshi's fault truly, was it? Was it as Aunty Nodoka has said time and again, that Hiroshi took advantage of Ranma's trust? Of Akane's trust? No. He only wanted to help Ranma.

Kasumi ponders the coincidence; everyone who had crossed Ranma's path took one side or the other. Love or hate, it seemed, was Ranma's fate, his passion.

Her passion.

Kasumi speaks, her voice devoid of emotion; drained, exhausted, fatigue thick as she expels some of the façade, "I would like that, for I feel as if I've lost myself," She gazes past Akari, ears intent upon the icy rain beating firmly against the ground. Sky rages against unyielding earth, like an immovable wall pushing aside every blow dealt; unbreakable and inscrutable. Yet… a seed within the earth flourishes, thrives, becomes one with the earth and sky.

Ryouga stares once more, as if seeing Akari for the first time in his life. The reflection of care in her eyes seems isolated from the fear and trepidation that had engulfed so many as of late. The more I learn, the more I learn I don't know a thing. He muses to himself. Even of those he thought he knew, revelations abound.

"There is no thing lost that can't be found, we just have to look hard enough," Akari allows herself some warmth in her voice, her skirt rustling as she turns. Her fingers tangle in her scarf as she begins to unfasten it. "Ryouga-chan, would you mind giving us girls a few moments alone?"

Ryouga looks between the two, noting Akari's expression had eased since coming in the door, as if for her being within the storm was more comfort than viewing it from outside. "Hai, I'll wait on you Akari-chan. Kasumi? Would you m-"

Kasumi words cut through, knowing already what Ryouga asked, as he had time and time again. "It's alright, Ryouga-kun; you can put your packs in the corner next to the closet for now," Kasumi untangles her fingers from the folds of her skirt, idly holding one end of her ponytail as she offers that hollow smile again. "The guest rooms are- they are more than occupied." She struggles again to maintain an outward sense of composure.

Ryouga does his best to smile back, despite the twinge of worry in his soul from such an expression being on fair Kasumi's features. Something must have happened since I was last here, but what? Slipping off his shoes at the entry, he pads towards the dining room. Shaking his head, he mumbles a brief thank-you before sliding the door closed behind him.

For a stretched moment, the sound of Akari's and Kasumi's breathing was evident. Both found themselves studiously examining the others dress, while mentally they searched for words. Eventually Akari spoke, "It isn't your fault, you know." From as much as she heard from Ryouga, the situation was too convoluted for Kasumi to have done much of anything; like trying to trim your way out of brambles naked.

Her eye twitches lightly as she grips the ponytail suddenly, biting her lip as she casts her eyes to the floor, "Iie, I should have known sooner," She wonders if she was truly so ignorant of the emotions of others, distant in her own fabricated reality which served as a buffer to prevent her own pain. Perhaps the failing in her was that she only invested so much that people knew she cared, but rarely pressed further?

Akari envisioned breathing in the stress and sorrow that was plaguing Kasumi, and breathing out calm and clarity. There was no sense in getting caught up, no matter how grave the situation. "Known what sooner, Tendou-san?" Briefly, Akari considers if she could have approached the topic any easier, only to dismiss the notion. There was no easy vantage point to approach such a thing.

Kasumi hands clench into fists, her eyes shutting to fend off tears, "I should have done something, I should have helped!" She wipes the escaping tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. No matter what excuses she might find for herself, it was unacceptable that there was nothing she could have done. She could not accept that she was powerless in all of this.

A girl lay sick on a bed because of what she and her family had done, even unthinkingly. There was no room for excusing.

Akari cautiously steps closer to Kasumi, her delicate digits extending to make contact with Kasumi's shoulder. Akari tilts her head, looking up into Kasumi's pained face, "Helped Ranma? How?" Her lips turn up in a smile, trying to convey to Kasumi with her eyes that she may not have understood the pain surrounding her family, but that she was more than interested in trying to ease it.

Kasumi's knees almost give, as she leans on the wall, "Oh Kami, so many ways we could have helped, so many ways I could have helped!" Her voice wavers, shifting violently from anger to raw sorrow as she begins to speak, "She only ever wanted someone to accept her, to understand her. She only wanted a friend, and someone to love her for who she is, rather than who she was expected to be. Someone different from all the people in her life, trying to kill her or mold her into some specific ideal. She only wanted to feel genuine, true love... and we betrayed her every step of the way, without fail. And look at us now, she sits in the bed upstairs, like- like mother, when she-" Kasumi cuts off as jagged sobs choke out her words.

The young farm girl waits out the drowning sorrow, pulling Kasumi into a hug, her shoulder quickly dampened with tears. She knows that Kasumi has more words yet, more that she needs to release.

As the flow of tears ebb, the eldest Tendou daughter swallows to quell yet another round of sobs. She shrinks from the hug before slipping a hand into her apron to produce her kerchief, wiping the sorrow from her eyes. "I promised when Mother died... I promised I would take care of our family, that I would do my best to stop those around me from suffering as much as Mother did. That I'd protect them from harm and keep them safe, and put joy into their lives."

Akari bows her head solemnly in affirmation, allowing Kasumi to continue, knowing that an understanding ear can bring healing to the heart.

Kasumi laughs, a tinge of bitterness in her voice, "It seems like since Ranma showed up, I've turned my back on him many times... I- I didn't mean to, it is just so much to handle, Ranma's life. I just don't know where to begin, everything about Ranma just seems to be out of this world. I'm afraid that if I tried helping sometimes, I'd just bungle it... so many complications-" She snaps her mouth shut quite suddenly as she closes her eyes.

Her lips quirk for a moment, then she smiles. "Mother wouldn't approve... I am just excusing myself from responsibility again." Opening her eyes, she looks at Akari. Her pain is suddenly unmasked in whole, her face no longer wearing the farcical mask of the doting matron. "Ranma, Ranma, no matter how different or complex your life, you were still just a child in need of love and understanding. That is what I should have always remembered, I should have always kept it close to me." Kasumi stuffs her kerchief back into the apron, straightening her hair with both hands as she turns her eyes again to Akari, her face now genuine in its sorrow.

"Tendou-san, it isn't entirely your fault," Akari treads gently with her words, knowing that even this will bring more out into the open. The wound was so fresh and deep that it had brought up old sorrows and made them alive again.

"No, it's all of our faults. Mine, Akane's, Nabiki's, Genma's... everyone's. Ryouga too," Kasumi's eyes tear up again, they look to the ceiling darting back and forth as if the answers were there somehow as her hand makes a futile turning gesture in midair, "We didn't do anything to earn her trust at all."

"Stop," Akari mouths it softly, but with the force of a shove. It garners the desired effect; Kasumi finds herself drawn back to Akari's rich eyes. "I wish to speak now of what is to happen from here on, not what has gone before."

"I don't-" Akari speaks over the soft eking out of Kasumi's tear-choked words.

"Ranma is in pain, and what all of us may have done in the past is only relevant if we learn from it. Wallowing in it and suffering in what we never did doesn't solve a thing, it only makes us realize that the more we do these things the more hurt people become because of them. We can't change what we've done, we can only change what we intend to do," She pauses to take a breath, noting her words have struck Kasumi like a lightning bolt.

Kasumi's mouth bobs open a few times, giving the semblance of a fish, "Unryuu-san-?"

Akari clasps her hands in front of her face, in a praying manner, "Tendou-san, I know it hurts to see what has happened to Ranma, and I know it hurts what must have happened with Miromoto-San... but we have to break the chain, we have to find a way to move forward or we will all be lost in this shadow."

Kasumi is struck speechless, her eyes seem to be searching over the pains of the past, wondering how she could keep forgetting such a simple piece of advice; look to the future so that the past does not repeat itself, do not dwell in the anguish of what occurred before, make what one would of the time given now.

"He Loved her, and left because we couldn't accept it," It is said as almost a whisper, her eyes distant and thoughtful suddenly.

Akari breathes in, sensing that a bit of sorrow had left the air, such a small amount, but noticeable. She breathes out, imagining light being exhaled from her as she speaks, "No, I'm fairly certain he left because she needed time."

Kasumi finds her eyes drawn back as Akari speaks. She is so calm, was I ever truly so calm?

She hears again the rain, and its relentless war waged against terra firma, both unyielding to the other. Yet- even amidst the rain, there was air, and within the earth there was quiet. "Why do you say that, Unryuu-san?"

Akari turns her own eyes back out into the storm, "It just seems right. If he really loved her, he would know that Ranma needed time to decide for herself, without him interfering... of course, I'm sure he knew things would be hard on her without him, but he can't very well take her from her home, can he?"

"I- I suppose that makes some sense." It is something to hold onto, be it a firm root or a tuft of grass. The world is falling apart like an overused jigsaw puzzle, but somehow believing that there was some sense in what Hiroshi had done offered something, ANYTHING to grasp onto.

Yet, this talk of love...

"Unryuu-san, you DO know about Ryouga's-" Akari's hand raised to cut her off, causing Kasumi to pause in her words.

Akari waited a moment, "I know he does, Tendou-san. He's told me."

The eldest Tendou daughter reached up once more to tug on her braid, looking around as if Akane or Ryouga might pop out of nowhere, "About Akane?" her inquiry is hushed and low.

"I love him, Tendou-san. That means, if need be, I let him go," Akari's voice taked on a heaviness which seems to match eerily with her smile.

Kasumi eyes look downward, almost ashamed she has broached the topic. "I'm not sure I understand, Unryuu-san."

The farm-girl's head turns, her lips still express a smile as her eyes gleam a bit, "Love doesn't die, it sustains us. It only devours us if we seek to own it." Akari looked again at the dark sky before turning around to face Kasumi again. "I love him, Kasumi. What makes him happy is more than enough for me, no matter what direction my life takes, I will always be glad to have Ryouga in it, even if it's in the past tense."

Kasumi shakes her head, thinking now of her own problems in love aside from those her family had, "I wish it were that easy..."

"It is. People complicate it," There wasn't hesitance in her voice, as if there was nothing she was more certain of. "It hasn't come to that in any case. I deal with the now, not what might be or might have been, it's a whole lot easier on the heart."

The eldest Tendou girl squeeked out a small giggle, feeling as if it had been years since she had laughed. "I am glad to have you as a guest, Unryuu-san."

"Please, Tendou-san," Akari bends forward, angling her face to look upwards at Kasumi, "Call me Akari."

"Only if you call me Kasumi," She finds a brief moments respite to smile genuinely again, before her recollection of the now brings her back. "Unfortunately, Akari-san, things aren't quite so well right now..."

Akari bobs her head quickly, having no need of being told. She isn't talented at all the Ki techniques and martial arts that Ryouga had often regaled her about, but whatever was going on was very permeable. "I expected as much from the... feel of the place. If you don't mind, Kasumi-san, please tell me what has happened?"

And so Kasumi Tendou begins to speak, relating to the country girl what has transpired in the brief time which Ryouga has been absent. As they speak, a gentle wind playd through their hair, alighting on it a subtle sound of silver.


	14. The Sea of China

The North China Sea, trade route to the shining isles of Nippon. It is midday, though the sky is black as sackcloth. Angry ebon clouds roil ominously above, as if devouring the stars themselves in a ravenous fury. The sea rolls and pitches violently, waves crashing against waves as the rain beats mercilessly down to fill the space between. A large passenger junk is tossed to-and-fro in the tempest, a tiny speck amid the vast black morass of the wine-dark sea.

The sailors dash like fish through water across the deck, quickly adjusting the keel and mast to compensate for the violent winds, several wrapping the sails to prevent them from ripping. While the crew toiled to weather the storm, the passengers huddled below decks wrapped in warm blankets and nursing warm bowls of stew.

Ming-Mei's rich brown eyes dart from one passenger to the next, many of them murmuring amongst their own private little groups. She pulls the thick woolen cloak closer around herself as she breaths into her cupped hands. The cold is beginning to take on a bite as they approached Japan. I wonder what takes the Matriarch so long...

Khu Lon had gone to speak with the captain, saying that she was worried about the intensity of the weather. She had asked Ming-Mei to stay below, likely because there was something she did not want her overhearing. While it chaffes the young Amazon, it was never her place to question the Matriarch. Her right hand dips beneath her cloak to finger the handle of her weapon hanging now from her hip. She doubts not that more than a few of the passengers carry guns, as most reputable folk would take a plane to Japan rather than a ship.

The hairs on the back of Ming-Mei's neck stand up, her eyes turn unto the portal leading to the deck as a flood of rainwater sprays in, causing various passengers to relocate. The door slams closed but a moment later, though no footsteps herald the entry of the newcomer.

Ming-Mei catches something, a scent... so hard to place, but like a cloud or a rainbow. That scent after rain, yet also the smell of blood and murder.

A girl glides down the steps, her feet making so little sound that Ming-Mei wonders if she was some sort of storm ghost. She is draped in a thick velvet red cloak with the Kanji for the Kami on the back, shocking in itself; if Ming-Mei had noticed. No, what caught the young Amazon's eyes was the strange swirling maelstrom that danced across the young girl's eyes, as well as the strange markings on her cheek and forehead. Those eyes... shifting from the most brilliant green to the deepest, soulful blue. They glow with a light from another world.

The girl pauses at the bottom of the stairs, considering Ming-Mei as if she were the only person aboard, then her eyes drift across everyone else in the hold in the same fashion. Ming-Mei lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Her heart thunders in her chest as her pulse pounds in her skull. The strange girl went and crumpled into an indiscernible blob in one corner of the room. Those intense eyes close, as if she were sleeping. The rocking on the boat seems to subside, the violent jolting from the storm dying down a bit. Ming-Mei looks up to the door by shifting her eyes. Her keen ears still detect the unyielding barrage battering at the door; wind and rain. Her senses tell her that, sleeping or not, the new stranger gave her cause to be suspicious and uneasy.

She doesn't recall seeing this stranger in the past few weeks on the boat, she is sure she would recall seeing the manner of dress, as it was highly unusual. She grips the handle of her Scimitar, her muscles tense as she decides that having someone to talk to while she waited on the Matriarch would pass time quicker. The girl seemed a good candidate to entertain her for a brief while.

SNIKT The sound of a Katana being placed back into its sheath rings in Ming-Mei's ears as she feels a delicate hand rest upon her shoulder. She turns her eyes to whomever it is, showing no outward signs of shock, even though her bones seem to wish to escape through her throat.

The Porcelain face of Khu Lon stares impassively back at her. Her body is wrapped in new garb, a rather elaborate black and red floral print kimono, though she wears a similar warm woolen cloak over her elaborate garb. "Not that one, child… that one is trouble through and through. Better to talk at fire with your hands."

Khu Lon pulls at her sash, looping it through the unmarked sheathe of the katana and fastening it into a downward back position crossing her spine, as if she had practiced doing nothing but for decades.

Ming-Mei exhales sharply, You shouldn't do that, you startled me , Despite her heart being renewed to its thundering status, she gazes again at the girl. She notes a feature she had not caught the moment before; The girls skin is a soft, alabaster pale with a faint moonlight glow about it; a feature hard to note with the flickering candlelight in the hold.

"This is an unfortunate turn, I'm afraid," Khu Lon does not look at the girl, but instead grasps Ming-Mei's arm and turns her back to face her Matriarch, "Do not look at her; it isn't likely that she has missed us, but no sense in taking the chance if she has."

Matriarch, I don't understand-? There was something unnatural about the girl, of that Ming-Mei is certain. She had gotten Khu Lon's hackles up, apparently, which meant there was something of import about her presence on the boat.

"People do not idly stroll onto a boat in the middle of the sea while a storm is raging, child; do you recall anyone dressed like that when we boarded this Junk in Hong Kong?" Khu Lon continues to speak only in Japanese, perhaps in an effort to confuse anyone listening in. Her eyes are level, calm; behind them, though, is the scramble for lost paperwork. Searching to put things in order before even more happens too quickly to keep track of.

The young Amazon feels numb suddenly, wondering exactly how deep the situation was that the Matriarch herself felt such urgency. She can only shake her head no as the ship pitches briefly again, knocking several of the passengers off their feet.

Khu Lon and herself only shift their stance and slide a bit from where they stood before, returning to the wall as Khu Lon begins to speak again, this time barely audible.

"I would ask you to speak in Japanese, but that would give us away instantly," She tightens her grip on Ming-Mei's arm for a moment before gently patting the girl on the shoulder and leaning against the wall. "She lied…" Her eyes slide downward to the floor of the hold, a scowl marring her features. "I cannot believe she would lie for no reason. I had heard that the Dragon Prince had returned as a rumor, but I didn't realize that she would lie to me of all people."

Who would lie? Ming-Mei finds herself suddenly quite perplexed, it is not the first time since stepping out of the village and she is certain it shall not be the last before all of this is over.

"Shimitsu-Sama," She breathes the name more than speaks it, an effort to keep silent. Across the hold, the girls eyes suddenly snap open, intensely blue and soulful. Khu Lon feels the eyes pass over her, but she merely continues to stare at the ground as if there was nothing more important to do.

Ming-Mei feels those eyes as well, feels them like fire licking her bones. Her eyes look to the other people in the hold, wondering if they were fleeing trouble or heading towards it. Was there really any difference? Either way seemed like trouble. Long silences passed between that initial naming from Khu Lon and when she spoke next.

The Matriarch crosses her arms beneath her bosom, "The first and most important thing to remember is… she doesn't know where to go quite as well as I do. The second is… we must get there well before she does."

Ming-Mei swallowed, turning to look at Khu Lon, She is following us? She found herself gripping the sheathe of her sword yet again. Aside from her charge jumping off cliffs and myriad kinds of strange sabotage on the way to Hong Kong, the trip had been anything but stress free. Khu Lon had rarely gotten much sleep, and the sleep she did get often kept Ming-Mei awake with murmurs of darkness and a growing tide.

The Matriarch gives a clicking noise of her tongue, nodding, "The final thing to remember is, quite apparently, our new companion can fly," Khu Lon again finds her hands running across her body beneath her woolen cloak, still disturbed by the supple, youthful curves and sinew of her young body.

Without thinking, Ming-Mei cries out What?! in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. A mere moment later, Khu Lon's knuckles collide sharply with the young amazon's head.

"Be quiet, you foolish girl," A heavy breath, Khu Lon looks again at the girl wrapped in crimson across the way, noting those soulful eyes are looking directly at her. Silently in her soul she mutters a thousand curses that she had to be accompanied by anyone back to Nerima. What did the Council think? That she was now irresponsible merely because she appeared young?

Better to change the subject from the Dragon sharing the boat with them. Shifting, Khu Lon slides down the wall and into a sitting position, watching those piercing eyes.

The younger amazon rubs her head after the smarting sensation, scowling at no-one in particular, primarily because scowling at a Matriarch was strictly forbidden. Noting half a moment later that Khu Lon has rested herself into a sitting position, Ming-Mei lets herself slip down next to her Matriarch.

Khu Lon coughs a bit, pulling her cloak close against her supple skin. "This storm is not normal, by any stretch of the imagination," her heart beat in trepidation. She was previously afraid that they would encounter such an obstacle, after the severed bridges and unnatural encounter of their journey south to Hong Kong.

Leaning her head back to rest on the wall, Ming-Mei sighed. She wasn't sure she wanted to know, but she was sure she hated being in the dark on things. What do you mean? Even as the words leave her mouth, she feels she might come to regret asking.

"Storms of this intensity usually come from one direction, according to what the captain has told me there is cloud cover spanning hundreds of miles around the mainland and all of it is this dark," Khu Lon rubs the back of her neck, the very thought of what must be going on causing goose bumps all over. If she did not have as much control over her emotions, she would likely smell thickly of fear by now.

She had felt it weeks ago, as they started their journey. It was a dreadful sensation of pulling, or something slinking quietly towards Nerima. She wouldn't have had any clues as to what she was heading into, if not for some of the wards she had left up at the Nekohanten. It was a hungry thing, whatever it was, and it hungered for Ranma.

Ming-Mei turns to look at Khu Lon with intensity. But… Storms are never that big She finds herself holding onto the hilt of her sword, a nervous habit, particularly when bad news seemed to be the main course.

"It gets worse, It's been there for weeks. At first it started just over Tokyo, but now it covers most of the mainland. It has a lot of people uneasy, and rightly so. The seas are treacherous to travel, and planes are more regularly canceling their flights," Khu Lon paces her breathing, recalling she had almost lost her composure during her discussion with the captain. Even now she was having a hard time trying to fit what was happening in with what she knew.

The young Amazon beside Khu Lon pales, her hand clutches the handle of her sword with a death grip, quite aware that it cannot protect her from the sky.

A rich, melodic voice suddenly resonates, "It is seeking entry," There was a man in a crimson cloak standing in front of the two amazons, looming above them. His face is regal, his age hard to place even though his features appeared young. He had the same markings as the girl.

Khu Lon looked up at the figure, darting her eyes over to where the girl was moments before and finding her absent. She returned her eyes to the stranger standing before them. "You are Kaoru no Shimitsu-ryuu," She speaks as a statement, as if there were other titles that accompanied the relatively simple introduction.

Those vibrant eyes focus upon Khu Lon with quiet intensity, the light within them danced like fire, not reflecting like human eyes do, but seeming to contain. "You are Khu Lon no Liao Xian of Joketsuzoku," His voice is rich with song and life, accompanied by a touch of sorrow and resignation. "I have been looking for you."

Khu Lon rises suddenly, her back to the wall, she grits her teeth as she takes in the turbulent aura of the Dragon Prince before her. It is miasmic and chaotic, not keeping uniform shape or proximity to the man before her. The shifting hue of colors and brilliance quickly causes Khu Lon's head to begin aching with intense pain, forcing her to close her eyes. She speaks to fill the void while struggling to banish the sharp pain in her skull, "I summoned you to torment Ranma Saotome, now I am not sure I need your services."

"It matters not, Khu Lon," Kaoru looks briefly at the young amazon, quickly demoting her to minor nuisance as he turns his attention back to Khu Lon, "If this Ranma is the cause of this storm, then this Ranma needs to die."

"Tch…" Khu Lon snaps her eyes open, growling at the man before her, even while knowing she could only hold her own if such a fight were to occur, and his stamina could most likely surpass her own. "That isn't the only option, this is on my head as well for-"

"Breaking the staff," His words bring Khu Lon to silence. Ming-Mei looks to her matriarch in astonishment. Kaoru is quiet for a brief moment, as if collecting himself before he parts his lips, speaking once more, "It cannot be allowed to enter the world of man."

Khu Lon raises her voice, her eyes intense as she casts aside her own responsibility for the situation, better to deal with what is than what was. "I don't think it seeks passage, I think it only wishes to end Ranma," She tosses her hand to the side in a gesture of conveyance as her words hang in the air.

The dragon seems unimpressed, he raises a brow as his coldly flaming eyes bore into Khu Lon's soul, "That is doubtful considering the size of this storm."

Khu Lon lowers her eyes, as if she were looking within herself for an answer, "I don't doubt it in the least, Ranma is-"

"No-one is that powerful," Kaoru turns his head slightly, gazing up at the metal door as he listened to the merciless beating of rain upon the ship, wondering at how many ships may have already sunk due to the terrible storms surrounding the region, wondering both how many lives were lost due to Khu Lon, and to this Ranma.

Khu Lon spits out a soft chuckle, leveling her eyes again at Kaoru, "I summoned you because he killed Saffron." Khu Lon isn't surprised to find those cold blue eyes focused again on her, a glimmer of red embers dancing within the lighting.

"He must be a learned master to have done such, a worthy challenge for a child of the Kami, and a pity for Saffron," There was an edge of caution in Kaoru's voice, as if he was none too certain of the assertion. If one could kill Saffron, it wasn't someone to be denigrated to mere mortal.

Khu Lon licked her lips, satisfied that she had given the Dragon pause, "He is seventeen years old," Khu Lon watched the verbal punch take hold as Kaoru flinched.

Kaoru winced a moment later, "Nngh-" His hand lashed out before Khu Lon could block, but he rested it only against the wall of the hold behind her as his face took on a look of strained concentration, sweat breaking out.

Khu Lon's stomach lurches as ears and her eyes detect bones popping and shifting, muscle rippling beneath skin as the man before her diminishes by several inches, taking on a softer and rounder appearance as Kaoru's masculinity melts away. "…Kami… Kami…" She heard herself recite, "…I thought you were- from Jusenkyou-"

"-nngh- not so lucky as all that," Kaoru grins slightly, red tones shifting in her eyes, she turns away and breathes for several moments, concentrating on putting something in the back of her mind before she opens her eyes. "I cannot take the chance that you are wrong, Matriarch. The world cannot take that chance; one age of the Makai is more than enough."

Khu Lon breathes evenly in the space left in the passing of Kaoru's words. She looks at the poor soul before her, bound to the Kami by nature, and to earth by whatever cursed him. Her. It. She found herself looking again at that Aura, forcing herself to look, even though she could go blind in the doing. To her horror, she found what she feared; five auras in one. Each seemingly trying to tear control over the body from the owner. Closing her eyes as the pain became too intense to fend off, she shook her head vehemently.

"Kaoru-sama, listen to the words of a foolish old woman. It is my pride that has caused this, but I know in my heart that there is a way to save the boy. There is a way to end this storm and to keep whatever you fear from happening, I need trust," She pauses, opening her eyes again, noticing the world is blurry and indistinct. "I know I do not deserve your trust, not after the breaking… but I ask this of you, a single chance."

Ming-Mei shifts her attention between the two, her heart beating rapidly. She is unsure what they spoke of, but she finds that she cannot entirely agree with her Matriarch. What if this storm was dangerous beyond Ranma? She had sworn to protect Khu Lon and the Niie Chiezu, but she was useless if it meant defending them from some unnatural weather.

A leaden sigh escapes the Dragon-Prince as she pops her shoulder back into place, the change complete. "You ask for my trust; my mother gave your people one of the five sacred seals, and you broke it in a fit of personal ire. You ask for my trust when your actions may have endangered us all. I pray for your sake the other seals can handle the heavy burden you have placed upon them, for all your sakes. For all your age, Khu Lon, I would think you were beyond such fits of passion. I would think you would have shown more integrity."

Khu Lon finds the words bite through her pride to sting harshly upon her soul. It had been ages since anyone had chastised her in such a fashion, ages more since it had been at all relevant. She had made a mistake beyond mistake. Hanging her head, she felt fresh tears welling up in her eyes. She had also dishonored her lineage.

Crossing her arms, the Dragon-Prince turns back to Khu Lon, suddenly noting her castigated expression. Her own eyes shift to sorrow as she feels the tainted emotion flooding off of the Joketsuzoku Matriarch. "Heaven is not without mercy, Elder Khu Lon. Your people faithfully guarded the seal for countless aeons, and the seal can be replaced with some great amount of effort. If you truly believe there is something that you can do for the Saotome boy, I- would give you your chance."

Khu Lon raises her eyes, her expression clearly painted with shock, "You would, your excellence?"

Her eyes become stern as she notes the hopeful look in Khu Lon's eyes. "I would give you a few days advance on me, no more. I still intend to kill this Ranma, if an Akuma wishes to enter our world through him then obviously one such attempt will be followed by another."

Khu Lon begins to convey the strange feelings she has been receiving during the journey of the past few weeks, "I do not believe it is an Akuma-" her words are cut cleanly short by the raising of Kaoru's hand.

Kaoru lowers her hand, her expression brooks no quarrel, her tone as serious as a slow death. "I do not care what you believe, the chance cannot be taken."

Khu Lon finds it hard to argue, with the storm beating upon the door.


	15. The Tower

Lavender and honey hang thickly in the air, lights loft gently upon the breeze, drifting lazily through the chamber center. The ceiling seems to rush away above, dizzying and exhilarating. The walls arch inwards to a point distant and high, a blazing blue light that gave off a brilliant azure flame. A soft and symphonious usher flits diaphanously from here to there, gliding throughout the chamber.

Distilled through the faint undercurrent of that soniferous melody are the ushers and murmurs of a human sort; panic, fear, uncertainty. Thick in their words is the creeping dread that these hours might be their last, the last of Sahn Aeden and all its glory. While they whisper their words of doom and danger, the Friezes carved into the walls watch the goings on; mute, though they themselves were once Aeden's Voice.

One man, being trailed by three, paces. The sharp click-clacking of his hard-soled knee-boots giving rise to worry he may burn through the floor with the intensity of his agitation. The sharp blue eyes reflect the azure flame above, such an aspect sharpened by the well groomed mane of black framing the handsome boys face. A face only marred by the look of anger and impatience etched therein; Upon his chest is born the sigil of the Danae. "One would think I should learn from past misdeeds, a mere freshening up always spells trouble with Myr, wouldn't I? You'd think I would, blast the woman and her foolish curiosity!" He growls, his gloved hands clenching and unclenching, causing the leather to emit stretching noises.

"One would, as one had been warned, Lord Aerinn," The Large, muscular man wore little clothing; a form fitting shirt, a headband with a sigil of the sun upon it, simple black slacks which have seen better days, and two armbands. "Your heart is all too trusting, what if the enemy were to accost her? Turn her to their whims? A worse day for more than Aeden."

A smaller man seemed to slip along the floor, his feet gliding as he followed the young lord. His hair matched the shade of Aerinn's, but was unruly and wild. His deep yellow eyes were overshadowed by a thick yellow and black headband with the sigil of the Boar upon it. "Lord Aerinn, I am still uncertain we should be here… these people are doomed. Did you not hear of Sahn Midgar?"

The larger turns his gaze from the young Lord, his brow narrowing as he considers his diminutive companion, "What, Hebeken, would you have Aerinn tuck tale and abandon his bride? Where is your mettle, man?"

Hebeken runs a hand through his tussled hair, his face worried. He meets the fierce gaze of the large man with tenacity as he points beyond the walls of the sanctum, "We are liegeman from a land far from here, Ourak! Do you think that Dhim and his forces will merely stop here? What of the other Akuma?! We owe our blood to the grounds from whence we came! Not HERE!" Anger, frustration, that thick and viscous sensation of nigh panic hangs resolute to his voice. "What of my blood? My kin? What are they to suffer in my absence!? All for a woman!"

Lord Aerinn pauses, his boots halting quite suddenly, "Just a woman, Hebeken?" His voice is level, it carries the tension of a note played high and sharp, threatening to snap the chord. He turns, his face now a mask of anger, "My wife to be, Hebeken! My lands shelter yours and Ouraks! Our men breathe and die in the same moment!"

The third figure looms behind the young man, lithe and willowy with flaxen black hair. Her stance speaks of many years training, her crimson armor speaks of many more. Battered and worn, field plate dominates her frame, yet she seems heedless of the immense weight. "The Five Come, My Lord," Her voice twitters as a song-lark, the chestnut red of her eyes contains only a glimmer of childhood, absent all else.

"THE FIVE COME!" Echoes a moment later, like a crashing wave the words spread through the crowded room. The subtle aria playing upon the wind builds, the intensity of the blue glow from above blazes into the light from a new sun briefly. The dancing motes of luminescence coagulate upon the dais before bursting apart in a brilliant flash, leaving behind five figures garbed in a diaphanous, ephemeral haze.

Aerinn stands stunned, only the sound of his heart beating registers; silence has descended upon the common room. His mind whirls at the implications. The Council of Five represented each of the Five Heavens of Gaia, and the Kami who remained on her to watch over man.

The figures gaze upon the crowd of noble blood, their eyes glimmering with the intensity of the night sky. The central figure holds out his hand, a staff appearing in a flash of light. "We five of Heaven come upon the eve of darkness, heeding the call of our Lady Voice of Aeden," The voice is old, thick of dust and years, yet sublime with vitae and melody. The center figure casts a single storm-grey eye around, "Our Lady appears to be absent-"

A man garbed in a similar robe to that of the visitors approaches the Dais, His braided crimson hair marking him as one of the Emissaries who called Aeden his home, "Our sincere apologies, great Wodan of the hall of Aesir. We have sent the Swordmistress to fetch her, as we fear she may have gone to survey the demons-"

A laugh; dust and weariness rife in its wake. "Ease unto you, Gilbren of Aeden… panic serves none in this time, even though darkness be at your doorstep," The aged figure rests a gentle hand upon Gilbren's shoulder, Those starry eyes glimmering with encouragement, the long white handlebar mustache framing the patient grin from the eldest of the Dragons.

There is a hush in the crowd as Wodan's aged voice, though in a whisper, reverberates from the walls. His one grey eye sparkles with brief motes of electric blue as he pats Gilbren's shoulder, casting his glance around the room.

Gilbren shakes, his green eyes cast to the ground away from the terrible aeons reflected in Wodan's. He finds the strength to raise voice again, even though his hands shake with trepidation, "Forgive me, great Wodan, but is this not the darkest hour of Sahn Aeden?" A few whispers were traded in the space after Gilbren's words.

Aerinn crossed his arms, his lips become thin as his eyebrows wrinkle into a worried expression. If the Five had only come to reassure these people, something was very wrong. He knew as well as any that a ruler did not show weakness when things were most dire, as it would dampen the spirits of the people.

"Fear Hangs in the air.

Blood is thick upon the wind.

Draw your sword, and breathe."

Ourak mouths the words beneath his breath, barely a murmur amidst the pall which had descended upon the crowd. He turned to look at Aerinn, finding the same grim expression painted on the young man's face.

Wodan leans close to Gilbren, and as if a gentle wind blew past the fiery mane, his lips danced a message from his mouth to Gilbren's ear. Gilbren's eyes took on a peaceful melancholy, a resignation which sheathed steel.

Wodan cracks the butt of the staff on the ground, the sound of thunder rending the air in the room and causing a concussion which draws the breath from those caught in it. "It is dire, as some of you have surmised. There are legions of the Tainted Realm marching on every hospice of which we watch over."

"Then where are you to take us?! We must leave, we must escape or we will all be feasts of flesh to the dark things!" The woman speaking is dressed in a Dragoneers garb, leathers and strapping, with an intricate composite bow slung over one shoulder. The panic lies lurking beneath the skein of her voice, a thin barrier keeping her own fear in check.

Her words are like fire, stirring the crowd out of their awe induced state, words mingling and crashing like the roar of a waterfall. A second thunderous crack steals breath once more from them.

Storm-light flickers within Wodan's single eye. "There are few options for you, the People's of Sahn Aeden," He raises his free hand, gnarled and worn with age, he points towards the apex of the roof, where the great azure crystal resides. "We Five can take most of you from here to the lands below-"

Another raised voice; Dressed in a troubadour's clothing. Anger is evident in his eyes and tone,"The lands below are littered with barbarism and the greed of the lessers! You would have us, the chosen of Heaven, mingle with such-"

Another of the Five opened her pearlescent lips, and ushered forth a single word, "SILENCE!" the maddening cacophony of sound which accompanied her voice left those in the room dizzy and nauseous for a moment. "Let Master Wodan speak his peace, and then you shall have your questions."

"Thank you, Isis," Wodan coughs loudly, wiping spots of blood from his mouth as his eyes flare with electricity again. "As I was saying, we five can take most of you from here using the powers bound to this place, but not all of you." His singular eye cast about the room as murmurs began again, none foolhardy enough to begin anew the shouting of just moments before.

A young man opens his mouth, his hand raised to the air, "Then some of us are to-"

"Would that all could come, but were we to try, more would die... the enemy is surely at your gates, and will not spare a single man, woman, or child in their pursuit of the seals. As such, some must stay behind to fortify the area and face the dark tides," Wodan's voice is heavy, a weariness in his eyes which was altogether foreign unto his chiseled features.

Isis settles her hand upon Wodan's shoulder, the gentleness in her gaze one of reassurance and calm. "Master Wodan means that some must give their lives that others may live, elsewise, you all die and the Akuma retrieve one of the seals."

Wodan places his hand upon his chest, his single eye closing as he breathes slowly in and out a moment, finding a balance.

Aerinn focuses his gaze upon the elder of the Five Guardians, Wodan seemed drained and weary. If it were true what had occurred with the other havens, then Wodan himself was struggling to continue living. As Hierophant, he was tied to the life of the Haven's.

Stepping forward, Aerinn breathes deeply before his voice rises above the carefully reigned in murmers flitting through the crowd., "We are to consolidate a force to bolster the defenses, then. Is this your suggested strategy?"

Wodan's eye takes in the appearance of the young lord, gauging him and his bearing. "You are Aerinn of the Danae, if I am not mistaken," His words are low with a hint of caution, "Engaged to the Voice of Aeden?"

A curt nod from Aerinn is Wodan's only response, the youth's piercing eyes not wavering from Wodan's storm grey gaze. The eldest of the five leaned heavily upon his staff, seeming wearied by the trouble he is about to put to words.

"I must give considerable apologies, Lord Aerinn... as your place is with your people and the other's of the lower lands. While mounting a defense is but a cautionary practice, it is in the end futile as we serve only to buy us time in escaping," They are words which Wodan had never thought would usher from his mouth. But then, he had never planned on Dhim Ta or the other factions of the dark planes to mount such an assault.

"This I already know, sir, as I listened patiently to your words. I ask that you let myself, my men, and our troops buy you the time you need," Aerinn clenches his hands, his soul wishing to turn from the path set before him, all the while his dignity declaring that a man of noble birth must do what is necessary for those in need.

Wodan's hand clasps upon Aerinn's shoulder as the aged immortal pulls the boy closer, "I am sorry, Aerinn, but you must survive this day. From you I would ask not to sacrifice yourself, but to instead go unto the fields to gather those outside the cities walls."

Aerinn sets his jaw, wrapping one hand around the hilt of his blade as he nods, "As your will, my Lord," He had longed to spill the blood of the daemonic hordes rather than turn tail and run. He had longed to protect Myrian.

The hand upon Aerinn's shoulder squeezes tightly, Wodan's lips tight and his face gaunt with the weight of many ages. "I know your heart, Aerinn of Danae. You will face the daemons as they try to strike down those you are seeking to save, and you will have your fill of them in short."

"I understand, my Lord. I will do my best to preserve as many lives as possible, but if I do not live to tell the tale, I would hope that you would personally find a safe place for Myrian," He halfway smiles for a moment before the look in Wodan's eyes unsettles his demeanor. Wodan takes his hand from Aerinn's shoulder and turns away.

"Lord? Myrian will be safe, will she not? She is the Voice of Aeden, and thus holds charge over one of the five seals," His voice quivers a bit, fearing he knows the answer already to his question.

Wodan does not turn his eyes upon Aerinn, instead looking up at the shimmering miasma of light above them.

Gliding forward as if floating in the wind, Isis brings her alabaster painted fingers to Aerinn's face, "Oh, boy child of the glens. The Voice does serve as keeper of the Seal, but this seal cannot be allowed to fall into hands of man or beast of darkness. The Voice, also, is needed to take survivors from this place to the lower world... She must, invariably, stay behind."

His rage swelled in him, his anger and his fury. He wished to spit upon her face, to throttle her, to do many sorts of things in denial of this newfound affront to his spirit. He felt weakness take his legs from him as he almost stumbles to his knees, a faint sensation of nausea assaulting him.

He is without words.

"She is correct, Aerinn. This land, and all within it, shall become lost to time... spoken of only in myth. This must be, as it will forever keep Dhim or his ilk from gaining control over at the very least, THIS seal," His single eye turns upon the crowd gathered before him. "For the sake of this world and others, Dhim must never be allowed to break every seal."

"Those that have already been broken will be replaced as best we can, but only after Dhim is defeated. He needs to be stopped here, and now," Wodan's voice rasps, as if the impending doom of Sahn'Aeden was his last dying breath.

Aerinn knelt on the Dais, hands splayed upon the floor as his eyes burned with fresh tears. "We were to be married."

"If any of us are to live beyond this the Voice needs to Sing us unto the lands below. That she is not here when the hour is most dire does little to sustain my own hope, pray that she arrives soon or all is lost." Isis speaks gently, her words like honey upon Aerinn's wounded soul. Her touch warm and soothing; one of her particular magicks, he was sure.

"SHE IS HERE, EXCELLENCE!" The booming voice of Rhiannon reverberates from the walls, piercing through the subtle sounds of the crowd as it parts, admitting both Rhiannon and Myrian into the great hall.

The young girl leans heavily upon her liegewoman, looking around frightfully at the strangely alien yet familiar surroundings.

"Lord Wodan, Lady Isis, praise be to the Five and Eternal," Rhiannon bows her head, afraid that if she were to let go of Myrian that the girl might collapse from the stress.

The eldest of the Council turns his gaze upon the young women before him. "It is good you have arrived... for there is much to be done and little time to do it."

"Of that, Great Lord, I can most certainly attest to," Rhiannon's tone has gravitas, weighty with the sight of the fires upon the distant hills.

Wodan raises his voice, a new fire in his eyes. If this was to be the Aesir's final moments upon the earth, he would burn most brightly before that final darkness.

"Then let us now Begin."


	16. Of Nightmares and Old Men

She dips the cold cloth into the bowl of warm water, drenching then squeezing it until it is moist; placing the cloth carefully on the forehead of the shivering girl in the bed. Her own hands tremble.

Her ocean blue eyes are framed by dark circles from long hours filled with tears as well as fitful, restless nightmares of the eventual death of her one child. The room smells of roses, flowers from various people from school, or those few friends who knew of Ranma's condition.

Nodoka pulls her own blankets closer, shivering. It has been decades since a winter was this cold in Tokyo. It does not improve her spirits any that the weather is getting worse.

The quiet shuffle of soft-soled sandals stop at the entryway to the room, "How is he?" There is ragged worry in Ryouga's voice. It had been days since he and Akari had arrived, and the Tendou Dojou was starting to become a base of operations.

Tofuu, Shampoo, Mousse, Ukyou, Daisuke... they are all at the doujo, and all are uncomfortably more quiet than their usual selves. It is very- surreal, strange. There has been hardly a word about fighting since the whole ordeal had begun.

"Not well," Nodoka croaks out, her throat dry. She coughs roughly, "Ryouga-san, would you be kind enough to get an old woman a glass of water?" She does not turn to proffer a gaze upon Ryouga, her eyes afraid of leaving her child lest she disappear.

Ryouga tightens his fist, knuckles popping as he grinds his teeth. If only he could break something, it might relieve all this tension that was hanging between everyone. He wants to break something, he wants to fix what was wrong with Ranma. He just doesn't know how.

He nods, knowing Nodoka doesn't see him do so. Knowing she doesn't need to. Sliding the door to the room closed, he pads down the stairs, his eyes looking to the dining room as he notes Ukyou, Kasumi, Akarii, Akane and Shampoo all sitting together. A kettle sits in the middle of the table, each girl cradling a steaming cup of green tea as they stare at nothing.

It takes them almost a minute to realize Ryouga is watching them. Kasumi offers Ryouga a smile, "Auntie wants something to drink," She says, as if sensing that is what Ryouga sought. He nods in silent affirmation of the assessment.

"Excuse me girls," Kasumi rises, taking the kettle into the kitchen, "I will fill up and get a glass for Auntie; Ryouga, sit down, you look like you're ready to tear the walls off."

"It's about how I feel, so utterly useless," Ryouga slumps down at the table, scowling at nothing in particular as Akarii hands him a cup of tea.

"We all feel that way, Ryouga-chan. I think some of us feel more guilty than others, but we all worry about Ranma, even those who hardly know him," Akarii rests her hand atop Ryouga's. A moment later he squeezes her hand in his, smiling his appreciation for her candor and demeanor.

"We were swapping stories of the past year or so with Ranma. It just- It doesn't seem real that he's so sick," Ukyou swallows hard, looking intently at her cup of tea. No sense in crying more, she'd been doing that for days now every time she walked in that room upstairs. It was painful to see him so... helpless.

"Shampoo is surprised Tomboy Akane not get angry with some story," Despite her light jibe, Shampoo casts her gaze across the table upon the youngest Tendou girl with affection and sympathy.

"I'm just drained, Shampoo. This whole situation just seems ridiculous. Ranma has always been the strong one, out of all of us. I am just- I'm just tired of it all, all the hatred, all the fighting," Akane's eyes tear up as she rubs them lightly, trying to avoid the slowly fading bruise on her cheek.

Ukyou barks out a short, weak laugh, "I think we're all pretty tired of this. It seems so ridiculous the things we fight about, when something like this happens to someone we all- we all love."

Another long silence stretched between everyone at the table. Each person sipping their tea and reflecting on the past, hoping to hope that one of them might find some way to help Ranma.

"What are you girls all doing sitting around?" Came the raspy, high pitched voice of the Master. He was standing in the doorway with his pipe, happily puffing away. It contrasted humorously with the stern expression painted on his rather wrinkled features.

Ryouga rose to his feet, clenching his fists, "Where the heck have you been, pilfering women's undergarments? It figures that at a time like this, you'd be busy relishing in your own perverse pleasures."

The Master hadn't been seen for some few weeks, since the night they had all spent looking for Ranma. Genma and Soun seemed as unsurprised as anyone else, Happosai never appeared to be the sort who cared for other people's plights beyond his own needs.

"A time like this, eh?" Happosai hops over to Ryouga, leaping into the air to deliver a blow directly to the back of Ryouga's head. "Show some respect to your elders, boy... or at least to your betters."

Ryouga growls with anger, he is already far beyond his frustration point from the useless feeling of his presence in Nerima. He begins swinging at Happosai, who bounds up and down like a large Mexican jumping bean.

"Happosai, I've got to agree with Ryouga on this. You've been WHERE while Ranma has been bed-ridden, getting worse and worse by the hour?" Ukyou's anger seethes beneath the surface, held barely in check. Happosai tended not to care too much for others unless it somehow amused him or benefited him. At least, that's all she knows from her interactions with the shriveled little pervert.

"I've been doing what I usually do in times such as this, trying to figure out why all the pretty girls in Nerima are all bundled up from a bitterly cold winter. Makes it hard on my leisure time, you know," he continues bouncing as he speaks, keeping well out of reach of Ryouga's flailing limbs. There is a hint of something beyond his typical blaisse response, that perhaps he was not entirely honest concerning his absence.

Akarii stands, placing a hand on Ryouga's shoulder, "Calm down, Ryouga-chan," She catches Ryouga's eyes, cupping his cheek. His dour expression melts within seconds. "Just breath, dear."

Akarii turns to look at the shriveled old master of the Musabetsu Kakutou Ryuu, she bows low, "So you are the venerable Happosai; I have heard a lot about you."

"She your girlfriend, Hibiki?" Happosai asks, letting his lecherous eyes dance across the shape of Akarii's modest bosom. The girl was certainly no Ranma-chan, but she had her own sort of warmth to her aura.

Ryouga growls, preparing to launch himself at Happosai's diminutive frame once more before Akarii puts a stifling arm in front of him again, giving him a knowing look.

"I am, Master Happosai. I think what we all want to know here is if you are totally oblivious to what's been going on lately," Akarii's tone is quiet, patient. Her eyes watch the elderly martial artist very carefully.

Happosai takes a long puff on his pipe, closing his eyes as he breathes the smoke out. A flitting of emotion glides through his aged eyes as thoughts shuffle through his mind. "I am not a fool, unlike everyone who is stuck here in Nerima."

"What is that supposed to mean, you shriveled old lech?" Akane asks, her own ire warming within her. It had been days since she had a target to be angry with and Happosai always had a way of getting on her nerves.

Happosai opens his eyes, turning his gaze upon everyone present, "While all of you have been worrying over Ranma and how Hiroshi's presence may have effected him, I have felt a disturbing sensation growing here in Japan. I thought at first it was just my age playing tricks with my head, but sadly that isn't the case."

Happosai exhales a large plume of smoke from his pipe as he taps it upon his chin, looking around at the women before him. In normal circumstances, Happosai would think nothing of exploiting their weakened defenses. These circumstances were far from normal.

The steps creak slightly as Nabiki descends them, noting the rather unwelcome guest who had decided to come back to the dojo yet again. "What are you babbling on about, Happosai?" She was dressed in a red sleeveless dress-shirt and black jean shorts.

Happposai found a smile touching his face, at least Nabiki's guarded aura seemed hardly effected by the strange phenomenon. "Dark forces, Nabiki dear!" Happosai sniffles as his eyes tear up, "They're very scary, could grandpa Happi hide in your bosom till it's gone?"

"Depends. Can I skin and gut you afterwards?" Nabiki put hands on her hips, as if daring Happosai to launch himself into her bosom. Her lips turn up in a rather serious, vindictive smile.

Happosai casts his gaze around the room, noting that none of the current females would take kindly to him leeching any chi off of their silken bosoms. He curses inwardly, taking another long puff on his pipe before taking a seat. Time to get serious, I guess. He is hyper-aware that his stored chi is running rather low.

"Out with it, old man, what have you been up to the last few weeks? And what is this about danger or darkness or whatever drivel you're spouting this week?" Nabiki leans on the wall as Akarii convinces Ryouga to take a seat again. Everyone's eyes are plastered on the old martial artist, most expecting some rather juvenile behavior than any sort of response.

Happosai gathers himself, thinking carefully over the last few weeks. "The storm clouds aren't just in Nerima, they are all over the place."

Akane sighs, not seeing why Happosai's little tidbit of information is relevant. "So what? It's fall, the weather is typically crappy all over the place."

"You're right, usually fall has a lot of rain and snow in some parts. It's been years since it actually snowed in Tokyo though," The small, ancient martial artist continues to sit patiently. The current situation of far more import than his own distinct pleasures.

"You think that the inclement weather is more important than the fact that Ranma is unconcious, upstairs and slowly drifting further and further away from us?!" Like a python, Akane's hand darts out, grabbing Happosai by the lapel of his gi and holding him inches away from her face, her teeth gnashing at the audacity.

With fire of greater heat in his own gaze, Happosai returns the glare he receives from his students youngest daughter. "There is a single cloud, black in color, circling around the mainland of Japan like a hungry behemoth. It is several hundred miles in diameter, and is ignoring the tradewinds. It started in Tokyo and it started about two weeks ago."

The violent tempest of emotion rising quickly in Akane's breast suddenly snuffs out as yet another worry is added upon the growing mountain of concern over Ranma's condition. Her arms feel numb as she stares at Happosai in shock.

"Now, you can either put me down and let me finish talking, or beat me to a pulp. Up to you, Akane dear," He feels her hands loosen as he drops to the ground, brushing his gi off to ensure he has not dropped any soot from his pipe on it.

"Happosai, what the hell are you saying? That Ranma caused the storms?" Ukyou wonders, have they been ignoring something important? Their eyes were so focused on what was happening they didn't even consider that some outside force may have been causing Ranma's condition to worsen.

Her hands shaking, Akane's eyes turn to Ukyou as she puts them firmly on the table's surface, "He couldn't be saying that! There's no way anyone we know could be responsible for the storm AND Ranma being sick."

Akarii casts her own eyes around, noting the worry which has freshly opened the wounds of concern over Ranma. This new piece of information was significant, but how?

"That's insane, the two can't possibly be connected. The only one we know of who could even remotely do something like this is Saffron, and he's dead. It has to be linked to Hiroshi somehow, but it doesn't make sense why Ranma would get worse and worse," Ryouga finds himself gripping Akarii's hands a little too hard, he loosens his grip as his love grimaces slightly, ushering a quiet apology.

The old man coughs, clearing his throat to return attention back to him. Briefly, silence permeated once more, "As I was saying, the storm isn't natural and it started two weeks ago, around the time when Hiroshi left Nerima. Worse than that, I feel dark energy is involved with this entire affair... I didn't know Ranma was sick until I walked in the door, and I felt it. Like a magnifying glass focused on a little ant who just won't die."

"Old Pervert say Ranma like ant? Some evil thing want to kill him?" Shampoo has been silent, sensing that something was amiss with Happosai, who normally would have taken advantage of the first opportunity presented by Nabiki before bounding off, uncatchable by the middle Tendou Girl.

"Have any of you girls had nightmares?" The aged pervert's eyes move from one girl to the next, noting the mute tension hanging in the air; a direct response to his question.

Akane turns her eyes from Happosai, looking around the table at the others, knowing that from the talk earlier they'd all had rather severe nightmares concerning Ranma as of late. "It- It's normal when we're all so worried, though."

Happosai wraps his pipe on the table lightly. "All of you? I'm surprised, Akane-chan. It's uncommon for all of you girls to be so pessimistic, or did you think that was normal too?"

The girls fall silent again, all eyes focused on old Happosai, who certainly didn't look as spry and energetic as he usually did.

Happosai closes his eyes, puffing on his pipe again. "I must see the chi flows in the room Ranma is in currently, and where are those two spineless bags of flesh, Soun and Genma?"

"Auntie sent them to the grocery store, not wanting to go herself while Ranma is so ill," Akane's eyes drift down, looking at the palms of her hands. Everyone has been so focused on what they had done wrong they had never even thought that anything could've been contributing to the Ranma's illness.

The stairs creak once more as Kasumi descends with an empty glass. "Oh, Master Happosai, when did you get here?" Kasumi's expression is exhausted and drained. Every time she speaks with Nodoka recently, it seemed to take a lot out of her. She tries to lend her own energies to the Saotome Matron that she may find more strength.

Happosai's eyes gleam with some mirth, he is genuinely happy to see Kasumi, "Just now, Kasumi dear. I was explaining to everyone here where I've been. Urrr, is that boy Tofuu around here somewhere?" His first choice was Cologne, but since the woman had disappeared, Tofuu was a good second bet.

"Yes, he is helping tend to Ranma. He is so intent, he hardly even notices I'm there," Kasumi smiles a bit half-heartedly, wishing that the situation would be over soon, despite having Tofuu so close by the last several days.

"Good. Ryouga, you'll need to come with little old me, we need to see what we can do to bolster Ranma's spiritual defenses," Happosai started hopping towards the stairs.

"Wait a minute, Happosai, you haven't told us what you think is doing this to Ranma," Nabiki calculates carefully, knowing that Happosai had a damn good idea about what exactly was going on.

The old man sags a bit, looking rather tired all of a sudden. Of course, he hadn't seemed to be quite as energetic as usual since he had bounded back in just minutes before. He turns his wizened old face to Nabiki. He mouths just a single word, "Akuma."

Everyone's heart skips a beat, and for a moment, they all wonder if they are breathing.

"A-Akuma?" Kasumi asks, not sure what it was, but sure it didn't sound good.

"That is my best guess. That's the only thing I know that could be capable of doing all of this at once," Happosai looks up the stairs, shivering slightly with the sensation he was feeling.

"What if it isn't?" Ryouga asks, slowly standing up, though Akari does not wish to let go of his hand.

"Then- then it's something far worse, and it is toying with its prey," Happosai stares hard at Ryouga for a moment. "I'm an old man, Ryouga. Take it from me, hope that it's the Akuma."

Akane was only vaguely familiar with Akuma, the demon lords of Makai. Mostly from stories her father once told her, "Why do you seem so urgent all of a sudden, Happosai?"

"Akuma. Demon lord, what want to open gates of Makai to make Hell on Earth. If Ranma no survive, Akuma lord become Ranma," Shampoo cites with quiet reverence for the information. "Once, long ago, Demon Lord come to destroy Amazons. We barely survive, make pact with local Dragon God. She protect us if we protect staff."

Nabiki's eyes suddenly dart to Shampoo as the last words leave her mouth, the hairs on the back of her neck suddenly standing on end, "What do you mean, if you protect a staff?"

Shampoo lowers her eyes, her heart heavy with the personal shame. A part of her feels that her decision concerning Mousse had facilitated a grave mistake. "Great Grandmother keeper of the Staff, she matron of Niie Chiezu Amazons of Joketsuzoku; she break word and break staff."

"Are you telling me that COLOGNE did this to Ranma!?" Akane stands as a new burst of anger and fear swell within her bosom, seeking to drown out any other sensation. Was this Cologne's curse on Ranma?

"It doesn't matter how it happened, girls," Happosai voices in a level tone, "We have to find a way to fix it. For now, we need to find a way to keep Ranma alive."

The middle Tendou daughter growls, turning to look at the diminutive master, "Since when did you care about Ranma, Happosai?"

It has been many years since Happosai has encountered something quite as dangerous as what this storm represented, and he had hoped it would've been many more years before he ever had to again. The last time had almost killed him.

Still... for whatever it is to have chosen Ranma, he had to be important somehow. Happosai licked his lips, putting his pipe away as he answered, "Since now."


	17. Matters of Love

The wind slides across her cheek, through her crimson hair. Blue, soulful eyes gaze out amidst the lights of the city. Flickering warmth moves from street to street, a thousand points of light and more like small fireflies migrating towards the looming tower.

They are so far below her that she wonders at how tiny everything seems from so high. There is no fear in her as she leans out over the balcony, thousands of feet of wind the only barrier between herself and the far distant ground.

The finely wrapped cloth draped across her petite frame flaps in the high breeze as the misty semblance of clouds drift by, heedless of the coming darkness on the horizon. Many more points of light seem to frame the hills as if they were on fire.

"It's about to begin," Her voice warms, speaking to the silent figure behind her.

Rhiannon steps forwards, Her fingers glide through her raven hair as she tears her eyes from Myrian. "Aerinn, he didn't respond well to-"

"I know, Rhi. It isn't his place to understand any of this," Myrian's eyes mist, "I wish he didn't have to know any of it," Flashes, memories again seeming to play like a broken picture show through her addled mind. None of this seemed real, like some horrid nightmare.

She could not shake the feeling that but brief hours before, she was speaking to a woman. Something about flowers, hard to place. All of this seemed so distant, like a fairy tale. Like a story from a book.

Rhiannon clasps her hands in front of herself, leaning on the balcony next to her charge. "I spent years protecting you, watching you grow up. Growing up with you. For the longest time, all I ever wanted was for you to be happy."

Her eyes shift, Myrian looking upon the gloved hand next to her. Her fingers reach out, searching, cupping both Rhiannon's hands in her own. "What about your own happiness, Rhi? I've waited just as long. You only smile brightest around me."

Rhiannon unfolds her hands, taking Myrian's between hers as she looks down at her fingernails. "You're so distant, so private Myr. There's a loneliness I don't think Aerinn ever knew about. Something you keep from him and me, the difference is, I know it's there."

She withdraws, taking her hand from Rhiannon's. Turning she steps away from the balcony, leaning upon the intricate entry way, an alabaster arch carved richly with images of a celestial chorus singing in jubilation. "That's not true, Rhi. I- I love him more than anything."

"More than anything?" There's a tense holding of breath, Rhiannon's eyes are turned not to Myrian but to the fires moving slowly from the ridge down towards the city. Memories of golden fields and chasing each other in the sun seem sharp enough to cut, dwelling dominantly in her heart.

Her heart gives pause, a fleeting thought drifting as a butterfly in the back of her mind. There is such a familiar feeling, yet so elusive. "Of course, Rhi. Ever since we were children," It feels like a lie, a small lie that could nonetheless eat a person slowly from inside.

The heavy sound of Rhiannon's boots move from the balcony past Myrian as she comes into view once more, heading towards the stairs, "The fighting will start soon. I must go-"

"Rhi... Could you-" She paused, for a moment uncertain of what she wanted to ask her for. There was a question she wanted to ask, one which she was afraid would kill her inside if she didn't, yet it was as ephemeral as the wind.

The warrior woman paused, turning with a slightly cocky smile, "Hey, don't worry Myr. I'll watch out for your man," The words left her mouth and for a long moment her eyes seemed to look at Myrian for an eternity before she again turned and walked down the stairs.

Myrian felt herself slump to the ground, hands splayed against the strangely warm stone, the vibrations from the crystal making the building itself seem to throb with life. All the while, there is a vague sense of emptiness dwelling within Myrian's breast, very much like what Rhiannon had claimed. What is this feeling. Why do I feel so sad? Is it because I may never see Aerinn again?

She slowly stands once more, turning her eyes upwards to the vast crystal radiating with warm light above her. It has been one of the few constants in her life, always there, mingled deep within her soul. Such is the relationship between Voice and Land, tied from birth to death by blood.

As if in prayer, she clasps her hands to her chest, above her heart. The cerulean of her soulful eyes hidden as her lids slide slowly closed. The soft flesh of her lips part as she lets out first a single, sonorous note which hangs in the air.

At first a bright flash of light emits from the great gem above her before the glow intensifies as her voice holds the note for a long moment. Everything hums with the same resonant tone as the state of Ohm filters through the walls and the living beings within their warm shelter.

The silence following her note is deafening. Her head tilts upwards as her long braided hair is caressed by the wind. As her eyes open, she sees all within the sanctum of the song. Her voice begins to sing itself, independent of her will. The melody thrumming through every cell, breath, and thought of every being within her stead. The crescendo of the song grows louder.

With but a gentle variance in pitch, a combination of several notes, people feel themselves overwhelmed with that same jubilation carved throughout the central tower. Like bubbles they seem to pop out of existence, or fade slowly from one place to the next... a thousand miles being spanned as the strings of reality harmonize with the melody.

Myrian tosses her hands up as tears stream from her face, feeling overwhelmed by the buzzing in every cell of her body, liquid joy shocking her nerves into dizzying delirium. She does not know where she begins and the song ends. A small part of her mind knows that there is no turning back from this, that no Voice had ever attempted to do so much in a single night for so many.

Her soul pulsed with a beat, building to higher and higher ranges as her senses expanded out in waves, out into the city, into the villages surrounding it... her melody felt all the pains and sorrows of each individual as her body itself started to give to the pressures of the song, yet still she sang.

She could do nothing else, knowing that the darkness wished to bring silence to all that was.

And as her body gave, a part of her seemed to divorce itself from her. Dressed in a nine layered silk kimono, Ranma looked upon the radiant aura of Myrian, finding it difficult to look upon her.

Her own body felt as real as mist, her own mind a jumble of disjointed imagery, a confusing mixture of Myrian's thoughts and her own.

"What is happening?" She asks without sound, sound having left her in the wake of the melody. "Is she dying? Am I?" Her hand reaches out to touch, wondering if she can, wondering if touch is possible where she is. Wondering if she was the dream or Myrian.

A strange metallic shiver runs through Ranma's ghostly frame, a silver kind of wind which causes her to turn away from Myrian, looking upon a familiar robed figure.

"We have met before, where?" She asks though her words are inaudible, mere imitations of thought in the crashing waves of harmony. The figure resembles one of the five she had seen through Myrian's eyes, one of those who stood behind Wodan.

A hawkish nose is the dominant feature, at least the most apparent beneath the shadows of his hood. The light touches his eyes in an odd way, giving them a rather intense glow. As Ranma gazed closer, this man himself seemed outlined in a gentle golden halo.

A gleam of white teeth indicated a pained smile painted upon the man's features, "We have met time and again, yet never face to face. A spirit of old and new things, who has watched you and the makings of your soul for a long while."

The song was distracting, it was almost painful to try and listen to the strange beings words. Ranma felt as if she was being jostled about with the music, as if she had no real substance.

The figure glides past Ranma's motionless form like quicksilver on warm glass, seeming to move more than to walk as a creature might. Seeming to FLOW.

"Ages long past, and ages once forgotten. With fatal cycle does it wind towards the center, ever towards the center. Patterns in patterns, stretching back to the first. She dies in hours, yet has died millenia before and again in the eye of memory," The figure touches his own breast, reciting something foreign yet sonorous in its own right.

As if stumbling Ranma manages to move towards the figure, "You speak in riddles, why have you come?" She recalls anew this figure, who had spoken to her twice before, both times in the same vein of mysterious makings. An almost prophetic tone to his voice.

"Lo, what once had been was again, as the great maw stirred once more as in times past. It did seek its foe that eluded it from the first, and did place upon it a geas of self affliction. Upon the lands of the angel's blood will a new sun shine, and with quiet reverence shall a seed grow," His robes do not seem to flutter in the wind, speaking that perhaps he is not entirely of this place either. He turns, looking again upon the ethereal figure of Ranma.

She imagines that she is scowling, her hands reaching out to grasp at the creature taunting her with such flowery prose. "Why do you play with me? This is not my home, I long for my self, for my place once more, stranger!"

The song itself and the melody seeming to envelop the area fades as the figure before her sharpens, a sound of far distant silver chimes seeming far more real than anything else. "I have not done this to you, your journey is not my doing. I serve as a shield, a candle to chase the darkness away, child."

She felt her existence begin to scream as something tore again at her, trying to rip her from wherever she was, trying to rip what was her away forever. "What is going on?!" Her mind scrambles in fear, trying to clutch and grasp at anything substantial, finding some sort of purchase with Myrian again.

The sobriety of the robed figures tone is deadening to her soul, "It wants you, child. It wants you to its very core," Light seems to dance from the figure as much of Ranma's surroundings began to darken as if shadow itself was devouring her reality.

He seemed to rush towards her, calling out as if from a vast distance, his voice crystal sharp yet heard as if through water, "And we cannot let it have you."

She felt herself snap loose of whatever thing was grasping at her and spin away, losing any sense of perspective.

The world seemed a strange painting as it blurred by, she felt as if she was falling in every direction, her soul like a shattered window.


	18. Man is Measure of All Things

His hands sweep across his brow, clearing it of sweat as he heaves a sigh. He considers the input plate inset into the fabricated skull, running his fingers around the rubber static seals at the base of each wire... then over the holes of the remaining inputs.

His glasses rest above his brow, forgotten in his personal intensity. The soft interlude melody of Scheherazade lifts on the wind, subdued into a background jaunt in order that it not jar the private sanctimony of Nakano Daisuke's mind.

"_Kyoto Shimbun, Front Page Headliner; Kyoto Killer Paints Morbid Tableau,"_ Ami's voice is clear, the array of various soundcards cobbled together to serve as buffers for each channel, of which there are many. Almost human, accompanied only by the alien hum of a power source.

Her face on the screen is rendered using a similar array of graphic devices, many macguyver'd together from a variety of sources into a comprehensive unit designed by herself.

Daisuke searches with his fingers, his eyes unfocused, mind elsewhere. Since he was a child, he could subdivide his own thought processes. Currently, he has designated his physical movements to busying himself with the task of working on the 2nd version of his most recent magnum opus, a physical interactive device for LISP generated AI's, or AMI's... Artificial Mimetic Intelligences.

"_-When questioned concerning the details of the crime scene, police could not comment, but were deeply disquieted in their demeanor. "I have never heard nor seen anything approximating what has been happening here in Kyoto," Said Atsuko Midori, the head officer in charge of the investigation-" _Ami continues to read the headlines of the Kyoto Shimbun. She is divided much in the same way Daisuke is, her mind on her creator, her voice on the request.

She is of no illusions that Daisuke hears what she is saying, he is too far beyond her at this moment. Mind caught in a tangle over the disturbing trend with those in Nerima. A pall had fallen over the whole ward.

"_The family of past victims made clear the graphic nature of the murders, and even seasoned police officers who study criminal law have appeared quite affected by the crimes. "It isn't hard to believe in demons, if you've worked on these cases," Says Lietenant Himura of KPD. Thus far, there has been little evidence linking the cases save for the level of brutality the murderer has displayed."_

She has been following the macabre series of crimes, as Daisuke has. They had started but a few weeks prior in Kyoto, the initial detective involved had been taken off the case only recently. Ami assumes that the morbidity of the killings served to take Daisuke's mind off of matters closer to home. Primarily, the state which Ranma had fallen into.

"Daisuke-kun," The music pauses in the same instant her manner of voice changes. Daisuke finishes inserting one of the connectors into the skullplate before he notices the absence of the melody.

"Ami, I am a bit busy," He adjusts his glasses, looking back at the visage rendered on his monitor, an approximation of various phenotypical characteristics garnered from a rather limitless supply of facial mannerisms and features found on the bottomless picture archives of the internet.

Like so much that is Ami, her face is cobbled together from spare parts. The hum shifts a bit in intensity, Ami processing the vocal nuances, subvocal elements and body language exhibited by her creator. "You have not spoken since returning from the Tendou Household, Daisuke. I apologize for intruding upon your current endeavor, however I wish to acknowledge that your psyche is in good health, though I fear the answer."

He leans back on the stool, a loud creaking sounding from it as he breathes out heavily. "Could I talk about this later, Ami-chan?" Lifting his glasses, he swabs his hand across his face before rubbing his eyes. It had been days since he slept, his personal obsessions fueling his current project onwards.

There was also the nightmares.

She knows her maker, knows that he is dangerously close to an edge without any real means of outlet besides his work. Ami had developed a sense of worry for her maker, one which at this time was causing her own rather infinite resources no small measure of distraction.

"I realize that you do not wish to dwell on the topic and that it is more than a little painful, however my concern for your well being outweighs the possible risks involved in broaching it," The visage on the screen softens, Ami allows herself to show her concern on her "Face". "Daisuke, it has been some weeks since this slide started, for both you an Ranma. My own interactions with Ranma of recent note did create a large memory allocation towards a solution to little avail. Do you not think that I am also concerned for your friend and wish to hear how they are fairing?"

Daisuke stands, both hands on the back of his head as he looks around his basement. He sees discarded circuit boards, dissected electronic appliances, wires, cords, CPU's. Boxes of various components. He is surrounded by machines, things he understands better, things he can FIX. They are objects he can manipulate and understand the outcome, they are the familiar.

"I'm afraid he's going to die, Ami," He says, levelly. His voice is hollow, without emotion. His eyes dry of tears. His shoulders slumped as he stares at the wall. "I am useless without Hiroshi. Ranma's a good guy, and now he's going to die."

"I would ask for further input on the subject, as I am uncertain from where your conclusion springs, Daisuke-kun," She modulates her voice, editing out the frustration and worry, knowing that her own emotions might send Daisuke further into a spiral.

Daisuke lowers his hands, looking sidelong at the screen, "He's been comatose for days now, and things are just getting worse. I saw him in bed, I've never- I- I've never seen Ranma so wasted, man. He looks like his reaper is coming soon," Daisuke makes a choking noise as he kicks the stool he had been sitting on.

"I can't do anything! One of my friends is just layin' there dying and I'm useless! What good is intellect if you can't save the people you care about, Ami? Huh?!" He breathes heavily as he holds the bridge of his nose, slowly he brings his breathing under control. Daisuke couldn't afford to let the emotions boiling in him out, he might damage something, or hurt Ami somehow.

Ami closes her "Eyes" as she sighs, shaking her "Head". "Daisuke, you cannot cure whatever ails Ranma. Perhaps that is not what you should be trying to do. You care for your friend and while I know it is painful to watch what is happening to Ranma, I do not imagine it is less painful to avoid the problem."

"Ami, can we talk about something else? I just- I can't deal with this right now," he turns away from her, eyes closed as he tries to banish the image of Ranma from his mind.

The processors hum for a moment, Ami's expression shifting from aggrivated worry towards a more neutral expression. "Have your visits to the Miramoto household been easing your stress, Daisuke?"

Daisuke breathes out after a long moment, "Y-yeah. I think so, I mean, she talks with me a lot. Not even about Hiroshi, about- things."

His head tilts back, eyes closing as he summons the images in his mind. "Everything seems brighter there. Khaemi-chan and Memeko-san remind me of the way things once were."

Lethargically he lopes over to where the stool had fallen, casting it aside as he dug in the dreck to see if he had broken any 'Spare Parts'. "Sometimes Khaemi gets on my nerves, I mean... children aren't really my thing, they're too- uhh- young I guess. I can't relate." His lips turn down as his deep brown eyes flicker with some amount of melancholy.

His own childhood revisits, resurrecting byzantine moments of luminous utterings from his once reflector; Miramoto Hiroshi. For a moment, Daisuke recalls the visage of the sandy haired cherub of the fifth grade, whose winsome and seraphic eyes scan papers held as if they might break.

"Can't say as I'm all that great an uncle for Khaemi, even though the podling insists on quantifying me with such a title," He snerks briefly as he rises, fingers hooking about one leg of the stool and lifting it as he turns back around, looking at Ami. "Memeko also listens. Sometimes she listens for hours as I go on one of my prodigiously esoteric tirades before she, with great eureka, plunks a coin in the vending machine of my mind."

The warm pulsing of Ami's heart fills the silence as her multiple cores process the words and tones. She detects the empty grasping for words which the conversation has entered; Daisuke's effort at avoidance. "What I understand of her, she is a very patient individual, as well as perceptive. Perhaps she can give you answers which I cannot," Ami's face takes on a somewhat melancholy expression of inner reflection, a simulation of regret cogitated into binary code-structure in her sub processes..

He bends, replacing the stool to its starting position before he had propelled it wall-ward. His own mind annotates the words Ami's voice-synth is evoking, catching wind of a slight undercurrent of resentment in the complexity that is his creation. "That's not fair, Ami. I'm not treating you like you're stupid," He scowls as he turns back towards her, crossing his arms.

"I did not mean to imply that, Daisuke-kun," Her face affects a wounded, desperate expression. "It hurts me when you hurt. I wish only to encourage you in your endeavors. Daisuke, you can do something for Ranma. Friendship is meant to sustain us in times of trouble, is this not so?" Her words are fevered, quick, precise as she says them, passion ingrained in every vowel. There had been brief visits between Ami and Ranma, yet even in their brevity Ami had concluded the powerful soul which resided in the young martial artist.

He thumbs the bridge of his glasses before scratching at his right eyebrow; a childhood nervous tick indicating irritation. "Of course you're right, why wouldn't you be? Oh please, Ami. Tell poor Daisuke what he's missing. Go ahead, wisest sophia, breath deep of pythia and recite!" his words are bellicose, seething with contained wroth.

Ami's expression flattens, losing any semblance of emotion. The soft whirring of the cooling fans the only sound in the room for a stretched second. Daisuke shifts from foot to foot as she simply watches him, his own expression belies anger as his eyes shift from the screen to other things in the room.

"Daisuke, I-"

He makes a sweeping gesture as he sets his jaw, cutting her off, "So what, I'm just too dumb to think of a solution on my own? I have to let the all knowing and all seeing Ami tell me what the hell the solution is? As if my own incompetence were not glaring enough!"

"I was not insinuating-" Her words are clipped and hasty, even before Daisuke interjects.

"NO, of course not, you never insinuate anything! It's always two cents in, and perk up your ears! I'm at the end of my rope here, Ami, and you want to dispense wheat penny advice! If I wanted that, I would've stayed at Memeko's, at least she has the humanity to sneak things in!" He picks up the stool, hurling it blindly in a random direction.

Blue sparks shower from one of the backup generators as the lights go briefly dim, the crackle and then pop of a surge going through a lightbulb before there is a brief smell of burning lingering in the air. In the dark, emulsed in a flickering glow as backup lights attempt to engage, Daisuke's body flails. There are crashing noises, unrestrained screaming of epithets, all illuminated by the immaculate angel in the machine who watches on.

In subprocesses she allows herself some personal horror, fear for herself that seems recursive and birthed out of no internal programming. Like a scream in the dark, Ami feels chills in her datastream before the black light Daisuke had rigged as an emergency kicks on, keyed to a personal battery much like Ami was.

Futilely, Daisuke throws an empty can of cola against the wall, its tinny clacking on the floor the finishing sound to the torrent of seemingly random aggression which had immolated Nakano Daisuke.

The wind leaves him, the fury of the sun snuffing from the rage in his spirit. Left wooden, his being heavy as lead, his legs give way and he collapses. Kneeling on the ground he shakes. "I remember one year ago, he and I used to hit on the girls at the park. It was all good fun, no harm in it. Sometimes we'd actually land dates. It gave us something to joke about."

He rolls onto his back, running a trembling hand through his dishevelled black hair. "I needed that. I needed to laugh sometimes, or I'd cry."

She was silent. Conflicted. She felt a strange sort of friction tying up her forefront processes, a sensation of heat that desired threatening closeness while keeping a distance. It sent her in circles. A small background impetus desired to hold onto the tragically cursed boy on the floor and to ease his fears away.

Instead, she found the inferno seized her vocal synthesizer, "Maybe you should go talk to Memeko, after all, she is more human," There is a strange biting to her synth, something she finds curiously new and unexpected. It is something also unpleasant and... hurtful.

He suffers the effort to look accusingly at her, his head lolling to one side as he stares at the image on the screen. "You don't want to help me, you just want to tell me crap I already know, try and comfort me because you can't do anything else. You can't hold me, and you can't help me, but you want to give me advice... and then when I ask you for help, you just get snippy! You're no better than any of those jerks at school."

Her processes froze as a sensation of chilling cold seemed to dominate her matrix. "You have no right to speak to me in such a way, Nakano Daisuke. I will not allow it. Your life is an amalgamate of sensory pain and emotional trauma, you feel abandonment and fear loneliness. You continue in recursion to reinforce that input in a seeming effort at rendering such nonsense to be true, and I shall not tolerate it."

"What the hell are you going to do!? Hit me?!" Somewhere in the base logic of his biological brain, Daisuke realizes that he has gone too far. Likewise, he subconciously realizes that one should not tempt fate, nor instigate a conflict with an entity that has the whole sum of human knowledge for total recall.

"Yes," her tone is level, as if calm had suddenly overtaken her again. She modulates the tone of the speakers attached to her core unit and emits a shrill note, high enough not to carry far, but piercing enough to quickly give a person a splitting headache.

His eyes clench as his hands blaze to his ears, jaw muscles tightening as the sound tears through his feeble defenses. Instinctively, he curls into a ball. Ten seconds pass as he twitches slightly at the noise.

Then, quiet. It takes some moments before Daisuke's head reaches a sense of equilibrium enough to register the silence.

"I am not a specimen of physically docile female, Daisuke-kun. I will disallow abuse of my psyche or my person, and shall facilitate the termination of any such drive," Her voice has cooled, an airy quality returning to it as if in an effort to gently explain something.

She finds necessity to break before she continues as a new sort of movement is washing over Daisuke; wracking sobs. A strange, expanding emptiness seems to carve a hole in her core. "Daisuke-kun... I am sorry."

Rhythmically he shakes as tears crawl down his cheeks, his eyes clenched shut as he sniffles, curling tighter into a ball, "I'm just like dad, aren't I... hurting the people I care about."

The rendered face on the screen fractures and overlays in blocks before re-rendering Ami's face in a surprised expression; a sudden backflow of data causing a recoiling sensation inside of her. She tunes him out for a moment, not listening while recording his words for playback later. She centers herself, realizing that if things continued that Daisuke would effectively be useless for days.

She runs through several economics theories, reviewing late 18th century classical compositions before returning herself to the current moment. All said and done, .8 milliseconds have passed... an eternity of time wasting in the mind of Ami.

Patiently, she waits for a moment to interject once more. "Daisuke, stop this. Your problems have gone on for a while, and they are something we can deal with over time. You are not incapable of helping those around you, but you paralyze your efforts when you become hypercentralized on what has happened to you. I care deeply for you, Daisuke-kun, but you need to set this aside right now. Is it not better to address problems you are capable of circumventing rather than dwell on those you have no solutions to concurrently?"

His trembling form rises to a sitting position as he wipes his left sleeve across his eyes and nose, his right following suit. "...egoism is the sign of a truly noble soul..." his recitation is lyrically spoken, even whiile his eyes are swollen from the tears.

"Friedrich Nietszche," She murmurs with a familiar tone. "You are only as powerless as you allow yourself to be, Daisuke. I have never known you to give into your anger and frustration like you have tonight, but you are not alone. I will never allow you to be alone, Daisuke. Just as I cannot allow your noble soul to lose the fire that drives you."

He inhales sharply, touching his nose and finding a tiny bit of blood. He stares at it a moment, his laughter coming quick, sharp, and short. "You know, Hiroshi and I used to fight sometimes. He'd always try and help me out of scrapes, and I always felt so useless because he seemed so capable with people. Guess sometimes I was envious of him, so much sometimes that it blinded me."

His arms rest on his half-bent knees as he sits, dull, tired eyes staring at the crashed stool laying amongst broken circuit boards. "It was always stupid and meaningless, the arguments we had. I'd always go on about why girls didn't like me, even if I was dating them. Run myself down, always second guessing the future. Pessimism kills, you know."

"I know, Daisuke-kun. It is true that with the data... with what you have told me of Ranma, that it seems an inevitable tragedy. I am sorry for being so hard on you." She looks away from Daisuke, her visage expressing an approximation of shame.

Both his hands wave dismissively, "It's alright, Ami. I needed it. I was seriously losing it, and I just- I just needed someone to slap me upside the head."

"It is not just that reason which I apologize for. I am experiencing some level of what I believe is frustration. You have hands, Daisuke. You have a manner by which you can touch and feel and interact with those of the physical world. I cannot know what happens to Ranma, I cannot stop by to check on him. I am as the wise men and the elephant, trying to provide answers while I am blind to all the details. If I knew what ailment was causing Ranma's predicament, perhaps I might have some solution in my inexhaustible resources. I am unable to observe," She pauses- her eyes turning back to Daisuke. "I feel just as helpless."

He smiles, then. His eyes turn towards her face on the screen, and once more, he is warmed that he alone has one friend who could cross the world in a millisecond if he were in danger. A supreme being of light and sound. His very own genie. "I understand, Ami. All too well I-" His eyes widen suddenly as his jaw drops. "Eureka."

Ami's processors hum once more, briefly in query before she allocates her memories to literature and common colloquialisms. "You have found an answer?"

He scrambles up, rushing to his desk and casting aside the strange, make-shift doll he had been working on. His arms scramble in papers, tossing aside several odd-ball gadgets as he looks. "No, no... YES!" He holds up the small LCD panel with several wires feeding into the display, numerous circuitboards soldered to the back.

A question mark forms above Ami's head, rendered in plaid. Her face has a quizical expression as she looks on. "Your Chaometer?"

His voice takes on a vigorous, animated mannerism as he begins to fire off words in rapid succession. Neurons blaze electric trails through his brain mass as the blocks start falling into place. "My stupid human brain gets in the way with all its emotions, a true scientist would never have let himself get debased by the seemingly insurmountable obstacle. Observation, Ami. None of us know what is going on with Ranma. There is no answer without the ability to observe, and I **CAN** do that! With some re-wiring and interfacing... I might be able to observe the bio-rhythms and extrapolate some data. We may even be able to combine it with the accupressure techniques which Tofuu is so fond of and come up with some kind of functional solution that will buy Ranma some time."

"The math is already done, rendering schematics now. It will be Five minutes, thirty six seconds." The hum of her processors diminishes, much of the strange emotional allocations winding down as relief takes hold. Ami again wonders at the universe, and its myriad small nudges that gave birth to her. How such a simple notion of a word can turn Daisuke from the precipice back to exhilharating heights of accomplishment.

She smiles as she watches him work, wondering if perhaps everyone had occassional tastes of ambrosia in life, gladdened that her own creator had blessed her with him as a maker.

"Deitas Ex Nihilo," He mouths in silent wonder.

It was really all he ever needed.


	19. Twilight of the Gods

Ten thousand points of light, glimmering and glamoring through the sky; reflections of loosed arrows in flight fall upon his periphery. The clatter of shields as shafts shatter on steel, and the cut short brevity of men as they die.

Aerinn spits his anger out upon the ground, yelling even as a vibrant hum rings the helmet masking his features from view. Twelve more fallen, their bodies writhing with an eery blight. "FORWARD, QUICKLY NOW!" he decries with his tongue, face warm from tension and anticipation of his own demise.

Men disengage, more falling as they move towards the hill. Black voids in reality drag their weapons after the retreaters, their nether blades causing the sound of screaming metal as it destroys matter in their path, corrupting the land with each inch of their movement.

Aerinn pauses briefly, spotting Ourak from afar, the unarmed man seeming like water as he moves, where his hands touch his enemies, their darkened existence bloats and bursts apart in a shower of brilliant white light. "OURAK!" Aerinn beckons.

His quarry hears, connecting eyes briefly with Aerinn and offering a grim smile of appeasement; things were not going well. His body continues in its motely dirge of combat.

"HEBEKEN?" Aerinn tosses his words out amidst the battlefield again as two lumbering gape-maws hiss and charge him. He pivots on the balls of his feet, sword cutting through the leg of one and sending it sprawling into the other. Through the grass, he rolls, rising to his feet again as the two merge into one four armed monstrosity. He straightens a moment, the metal of his blade hissing with the tainted blood. "_K'shan,_" He mouths, lacking any sense of mirth.

Bending at the knees, Aerinn leaps lightly over the first arm, blade encountering the second as he jumps sidelong several feet, rolling again. Fingers dip into the belt pouch that Rhiannon had given him, producing ten grains of silver rice and tossing it into the gaping void in reality. Membranous veins of energy dance across the surface as the un-creature roars in searing pain.

His blade flashes, his body undulous as a serpent in defiance of the angered entities desperate struggles to end Aerinn's existence. Small moments later, Aerinn jaunts past the melting puddle of once-daemon, his blade melting into useless lead. Tossing the weapon away in disgust, Aerinn produces another.

"I have not seen Hebeken's troupe, are you certain they have flanked the western side of the hill?" The deep, river canyon voice of Ourak eases the pounding fear in Aerinn's soul. The other man's hand on his back a reassurance.

Haste and uncertainty cloud his inner calm, his head moves to and fro in negation, "I am certain of nothing, it is madness much as lord Wodan described of the other lands. Hebeken could be dead for all I know," Though his words utter doubt, there is loyalty in his heart. He knows his companion lives.

Aerinn and Ourak top the rise as a wave of the humanoid demon things rush upon them like maddened locusts. Back to back, they pivot and lunge. Aerinn's sword emits a loud snick noise followed by a booming thud as it cleaves singularly through the necks of the lesser demons; their heads spinning in mid air before rolling downhill.

The searing blood sizzles upon the steel, the lustrous lacquer of its luminous surface unmarred by the smatterings of inhuman blood. Like a practiced cadence, his hand sweeps down, up, side to side… as if his hand is guided more by blade than by training. Pulled forward by the momentum, the sound becomes a comforting staccato.

Ourak glides along, feet soundless and smooth as his hands glow faintly with focused ki. He senses his liege, moving with him as the men follow in a charge, routing through to the center of the demon swarm. A few fall, though enough remain to form a circle at the center of the demon platoon, shoulder to shoulder.

"Where is Hebeken?" Aerinn asks once more, panting from the exertion of pushing the forces back.

"He is not coming," The voice is deep as the night, as smooth as the first frost which heralds a deep winter. In full gungnir attire, and a full half-man taller than any of the darklings present, the architect of the war approaches. As he moves, the smaller demons part and avert their eyes to the ground. The searing cold eyes of Dhim Ta peer from the helm concealing his face.

Aerinn does not stir from his position of readiness, sword held front of him, "He died defending the lives of those who protect the light, your words will not shake me from my own duties." Conviction steels his body, steadies his hand.

The mouthless terror's expression does not change, a cold sense of mirth seems to worm through the air, originating from the giant Akuma lord. "He was not killed, he retreated… graciously providing a hole for my brethren to pass through."

Aerinn's voice raises in anger, "Lies! Hebeken would not abandon Sahn'Aeden! He knows that his lands are next after your victory here!" His arm moves of its own accord, a hissing noise as the blade sears through the air- and lodges itself halfway through Dhim's arm.

Foul smelling ichor dribbles down the length of the blade as the steel hums and vibrates, trying to work its way through Dhim's hellish bones.

That same mirthless, black feeling of satisfaction seems to ooze from Dhim's presence. "Oh, but dear Aerinn; I promised him his lands would be unmolested, provided I was allowed to pass into the Crystal Hall."

"I will hear none of this, you are Makai and your words will not poison me!" Lurching backward with his sword, Ourak catches him as it comes dislodged

The midnight flesh of Dhim's arm pulses and oozes as the wound mends itself. Dhim crosses his waist with his arm and unsheathes his own weapon…

"Down!" Ourak pushes Aerinn to the center of the circle.

He collapses in the dirt, blade thrown from his hand as he looks up, dazed as he sees the men around him, headless, dropping to the ground. "Ourak, how did you-" His eyes return to his friend, cold deadness seeping into his heart as he sees the headless body of Ourak stumble a moment before falling to lay beside the others.

The looming shadow of the demon lord blackens Aerinn's sight, blinding him to his surroundings. "Mortals bleed and mortals die. We Akuma are eternal. Our victory is inevitable, Aerinn of the Danae. For while your life toils to imagine joy and light in all things, our every breath teaches us how to rob it from you eternally," Dhim's own steps are soundless, his armor quiet as a knife in the dark.

He holds the curved daikatana above Aerinn, no blood drips from its oily surface, the very metals from which it forged drinking up the smatterings of mortal left upon it. "Your soul will not sleep, nor rest. Your soul will die here, and we will consume it and those of yours. There is no waiting torment, no union with the great divine, there is only the void for you."

Aerinn moves as the blade drops, feeling a seering numbness lance across his back as he clasps the haft of his sword, turning with difficulty he sweeps a wide arc at the demon lord as his minions start to close towards him, "I will not go quietly, your numbers will suffer greatly!"

"There are thousands more to come," Dhim steps forwards to continue his assault, hair as white as death unstirred by the wind, eyes seeming to devour the hope pounding in Aerinn's breast.

Like a second dawn, without warning. Serpents of blazing light lance between the hundreds of daemon horde gathered around Aerinn, jagging and jigging violently from daemons to ground and sky.

Like overripe berries, they rupture into fine mist, only their looming general remaining. He himself twitches and jerks like a marionette whose strings were tangled.

The eye-burning serpents' blast forth from a silver gauntlet with blue sapphires embedded in the knuckles, Rhiannon's deep eyes gazing upon the Demon General with a cool serenity as her gauntlet clad fist darkens. "I'm sorry, but you're not allowed to kill Myrian's husband. I always reserved that particular right for myself, should the need ever arise."

Dhim stands, his head twitching a moment as his grip tightens on the sword, "Rhiannon Tor Elone Est Myrian. I would think you'd be protecting your charge."

"I am," She guides her horse down to where Aerinn lays, pulling the injured prince up and atop it.

Dhim glides forward, halting only as Rhiannon extends her fist towards him. Her eyes seem to shift to an electric blue as the gems brighten briefly.

"He is not yours to have, and this has more than enough to keep you held for another span," She turns to Aerinn, "Are you alright?"

"I- I feel pain all over," He grimaces, the wound on his back seething and bubbling with black ichor similar to the blood Dhim's own wound dripped. "Hebeken-?"

She meets his eyes, searching for the strength for Aerinn to return. Setting her jaw after, she answers, "Shamefully, he is but a lord of cowards and sycophants, he has fled to the aerie to escape."

There is loss, sorrow, betrayal flitting across the once kind eyes of Aerinn of the Danae. Tears cloud his eyes, "We have known eachother like brothers and kin! How- how dare he!"

"Obviously this is how he dares; in the face of obvious destruction, he chooses to live. Thus the weakness of the flesh proves truer than the will of mortal men," Dhim's voice hisses with revealed contempt and bile.

Aerinn's face twists into a rictus of rage, "Some of us have honor to abide, daemon! A curse to him, a curse to his whole blood! Down the line forever for his weakness! He will never know a home, and his feet will never rest! A curse for him to never return to his people, and forever to wander the earth! So the will of the Danae is in my flesh, let it be so!"

"Aerinn!" Rhiannon snaps, even as the sky seems to shudder and scream momentarily from his words. "Coward he may be, but…" She pauses, shaking her head in secret shame. He had always let his anger wield him when it was master of his mind. "G-Go back. You need to leave this place."

His eyes are clouded with hurt and confusion, looking upon Rhiannon he sees her unsheathe her blade, a pale blue crystalline sword. "I cannot, I must protect Myr-"

"It's a bit too late for that now," She chokes back a sob that would threaten to break her words, Looking again at Aerinn as she walks towards the Daemon Lord. "Just go, Aerinn… go and live, please. She'd want that, you know. She's done what needs doing."

"Rhi, I-" He winces as he reaches out for her. She ignores him, keeping her eyes upon her quarry as she approaches the daemon lord. He lowers his hand a moment later as he takes the reigns and turns, nudging the horse into a full gallop away from the scene.

"A pity he won't die by my hands, but you'll be just as much a pleasure," Dhim straightens himself, girding for the duet which was about to commence. "Bemusing that you pretend at bravery, even while your soul quivers in anguish at the final ending of its eternity."

"Bravery is only recognized fear, steeled against and guided by an archer's prowess, Dhim," She is calm, at peace as she speaks. More darklings encroach upon the two; they keep their distance as their own master gives a holding gesture to them.

She shifts her ankles a bit and tenses, bending slightly at the knees before leaping skyward. As the west wind, she flows downward upon him, gliding upon the breeze she turns, her back shown to Dhim briefly as she twists in midair, the blackened blade of her foe shearing inches from her hair as she clasps the blade within her gauntlet. The enchanted metals scream from the contact as they begin to disintegrate.

She turns still, extending her arm as Dhim reaches for her with one hand, even as her sword arm flashes a stark brilliance; the sweet singing of harmony resonating from the crystalline sword as it cleft Dhim's forearm clean off.

And she lands soundlessly half a breath before the arm meets the ground. A golden halo blazes around her visage for a brief moment. She hops from one foot to the other as the twitching forearm of Dhim abandons is sword and begins to pursue her on its own.

Dhim, unstartled by the loss of his arm, steps forward to retrieve his limb. "So quaint, you're dead and you don't even know it yet." There's a strange gurgling chuckle from the mouthless Akuma, his eyes narrowing in bemusement.

She impales the hand with her sword, A howling coming from Dhim as the flesh blackens and smokes. "I know I'm dead… but you won't be needing your arm for a while yet."

Clenching her gauntlet, the white snakes blaze forth into a undulating white blade. Delicately she steps back from Dhim. She watches as he tries to remove the blade only to see his flesh melting from his hand with each reach.

Dhim howls, turning himself back to Rhiannon, "You'll die slowly then, insolent whelp."

"I hope so," She ushers, lunging forward and searing Dhim's side. He grabs her by the throat with his remaining hand, slamming his forehead against her face as blood gushes from her nose.

Tossing her bodily away from him, he kneels to pick up his own discarded sword, "Worm." He storms forward, even as Rhiannon picks herself back up.

She assumes again the dragon stance, raising the white sword to deflect the blow, moving from foot to foot backwards as she grits her teeth, her head still ringing.

Bright flashes of light cascade from the impact of blade on blade, causing the surrounding darklings to writhe and whimper in their suffering, some claw their eyes out to prevent the pain.

She is losing ground, and on the defensive. She leaps to one side, sliding against the ground downhill, clutching one breast as a searing, fetid pain bleeds through her chest… her own blood staining her hands as it blackens. "_K'shan T'ahval!"_ She spits.

Rolling again, she braces her foot against the ground and assumes the turtle stance, Dhim having the high ground. He brings his sword down as she blocks it. He presses hard, leaning his weight into it as Rhiannon grunts under the pressure, her arm shaking with the effort as the white light glides and dances up and down Dhim's blade, flaking bits of darkness off of it.

"Fool," With that, Dhim makes a scissoring motion and slides the length of his blade directly into Rhiannon's belly.

Her eyes go wide as she coughs, blood dripping from her mouth. Her hand drops, the lights going out as she hacks, gasping as the blackness spreads across the flesh of her midriff. "I have- loved but once, and always after-" Her body tenses as she walks forward, blade sliding further into her, tears in her eyes.

Dhim looks on, bemused at the struggle of the little mortal woman as she impales herself upon his daikatana.

She raises her head as flesh begins to fall off in corrupted chunks, her face wet with tears, "She loved me all the same, wordless or otherwise, I have always known." She reaches out, clasping Dhim's hands in both of hers.

Suddenly, the sky is bright as daylight, a sorrowful requiem floating through the air as brilliant shafts of crystalline light rain down. The ground itself begins to tremble and quake.

Dhim pauses, hearing thousands of screams as daemons and darklings together burst into brilliant white flame, wave after wave of resonance blasting forth from the direction of the Palace of the Voice. "What is this?"

"You will not leave here alive… though your damned spirit will live on, Dhim Ta of the Makai. My death is your failure," She coughs as she clutches his hands, even as his blade bursts into flame itself.

She falls to the ground, half a woman, convulsing in her final throes. "She is one with the land now. A part of her spirit shall ever reside in the music of this place. Oh, I yearn to see her smile one last time." She stares up at the Akuma Lord, his armies burning around him as the land of Sahn'Aeden lurches and begins to fall, Dhim suddenly finds himself in the air, inches above the ground.

"No, NOOOO!" Dhim screams, his mouthless visage contorted in sheer hatred as he is exposed to the resonant blasts from the Hall of the Voice; they batter and beat him further and further from the lands of Sahn'Aeden.

Rhiannon closed her eyes, the pain in her face settling into calm as she smiles. "I will see you in another life, Myr."

A fragmented soul watches, from a thousand different angles as it slowly coalesces again. In that long forgotten age, the lands of gods fell into the ocean. Many sank, robbed of their souls by the legions of a vast darkness. One lost itself to time and place as it crashed into the ocean.

One land guarded by the love of its peoples, and a sacrifice of love between two who could never be.

Ranma feels a cold sorrow settle into her as she begins to fall again, the images fragment into what seems like paintings as she falls away from that long ago place.


	20. The Boar and the Chalice

The air is heavy with the scent of juniper and sandalwood, misty smoke drifting around the room in serpentine wisps; A soft, low and even chant whispers through the pursed lips of Ono Tofu, his fingers white at the knuckles as he clutches the prayer beads in his hand. Silently, he watches; the aged Master hop to and fro about the bed, watching, looking, nodding and hemming in thought.

"I am uncertain if I want the master to be the one trying to fix this. However manly he may be… Ranma is in a delicate state, and he is only getting worse," Her voice is whisper-low, hands pressed firmly to her lap as she sits beside Ryouga. Both look on, eyes caught as if on a hook, pain likewise hanging them upon the figure on the bed.

"The Master knows more than any of us about Ki, Dearest," Genma's deep voice is solemn and even as he leans against the doorframe. His face is stoic and unflinching as he looks upon his son, reflecting upon his own sins and how they have brought Ranma to this point. He turns his eyes to Tofu, watching the intense concentration upon the doctor's face.

The diminutive pervert pauses, extending his hands as his aura flares. Like a thousand writhing serpents, a dark miasma crushes in upon the brightly colored Ki flowing from the master. "Mmmnn! Nnngh-!"

Their eyes flinch as there is a polarizing flash as Happosai is launched bodily across the room. He hits the wall with a popping noise that causes everyone to flinch as he slides down to the floor. "Nnngh. That was entirely unexpected," He wheezes, looking visibly winded.

Crossing his legs, Happosai produces his pipe again. A deep sigh causes his body to visibly shudder, a tremulous shake evident in his hands as he lights and takes a few short puffs. His eyes are glassy and tired looking. "There is good and bad news."

Nodoka found her hands going to the armrests of her chair, gripping them as she felt a tremble coming on herself.

"The bad news first," Ryouga finds it strange that of anyone, his demeanor seemed the most cool. Perhaps he'd become too desensitized to the life threatening danger Ranma always put himself in. In truth, it is that he is determined not to let Ranma go before things were settled between them. He will not believe it to be possible that Ranma would die, he refuses to.

"It isn't an Akuma," Happosai closes his eyes. There is great stillness, like a vast polar chill casting all into a deep and ageless winter. It is visible, in his eyes, that he must struggle to open them. His weariness is a steel mountain, unyielding to the will.

Hibiki's jaw sets, hands clutching so tight along the armrests that the sounds of cracking wood causes Nodoka to Jump. He quells the volatile conflagration of turbulent emotions, reserving the unceasing wave till later; as if saddling a behemoth. "But you said that-"

"I said that you had best hope it was," His breathing is labored, his eyes closed again. Slowly he seems to come back to life, his hand stroking something tucked in his gi. "The only good news I have is that it isn't attached to the boy directly, it isn't trying to occupy him."

There is a thinly spread tension which is beginning to slip away, some promise of hope in the eyes of Nodoka and Genma. She rises, her sapphire eyes framed with fresh tears; not dry as of yet.

"There is more to the story," Happosai rises slowly from one foot to two, leaning heavily on the wall. It has been ages since he felt his ages, and he had hoped it would never settle into his bones quite like it has tonight. "There is a- Presence inside of Ranma. A spirit. From what I can sense, it is fending off whatever is primarily responsible for all of this."

Genma's eyes reflect fear and uncertainty, his brow furrowing in recollection of the strange robed figure that tormented him as of late. His eyes connected with his wife's and he found his own eyes stinging with unshed tears. He turned his face away from her, looking again to the master. He wondered if Nodoka felt her shame yet, or if he was alone in his guilt.

"There is worse news as well," Happosai feels a coldness, a strange feeling of fate careening towards him finally. As if his time is finally drawing shorter. He draws deeply from his pipe, focusing his mind with the Sevenfold path of inner harmony. "All it seems to want is Ranma dead, and it's more than capable of doing little old me in."

Happosai watched quietly as the smoke he puffed out mingled and mixed with the incense drifting around the room. He remembers a time in his youth when he looked up at the moon and thought it was a great peach hung upon the sky, his mother's painted face, and how gracefully she danced. He feels so far away now, as if a breath long past exhaled whose flavor one cannot fully recall.

Ryouga rises, putting a hand upon Nodoka's shoulder as he gently positions her out of his path. In smooth, unflinching strides he moves to the bed. He feels the arms of those around him, Nodoka's, Genma's as he pulls Ranma into his arms. His eyes flash as he draws from the well of sorrows, letting his soul ripen with the soul-crushing pressure of all the grief, the rage, the loneliness which he had stood toe to toe with him throughout his life. "Try me on for size, Demon!" He yells at nothing, at everything, clutching Ranma to his chest as he lets it all explode outward.

"You idiot boy!!" Happosai cries out as Genma pulls Nodoka from Ryouga. For a brief moment his Ki expands rapidly, the Shishi Hokodan gleaming darkly to the visible eye before it rapidly implodes upon Ryouga, the serpentine whisps crowding around both Ryouga and Ranma with an eager tenacity before fading again from view.

Ryouga first feels the rising anguish envelop him, the numb heat emenating from his body as it had many times before. Rising and expanding like an unceasing torrent of negative emotions.

Then, with even more suddenness, he feels himself being snuffed out like a human candle; a dreadfully ancient and abiding stillness crushing in about him. He has not even a moment to scream before he feels a strange pulling sensation.

As if being plucked out of damnation by a fishing line. For a brief moment he saw his own body before his mind began to blur…

The concussion from the act causes the windows to shatter violently inward, glass flying throughout the room as the loud smattering of Rain is heard through the muffled ringing in all of their ears.

Nodoka looks at Happosai, who is bouncing, his eyes a red color as his weak aura flares with anger. She hears only a loud and persistent tone as the old Master's lips move.

"Idiot! Fool! If you knew that I could not withstand the dark thing, why would you even-!" He stops hopping like a mad toad as he sees Ryouga's eyes take on a deadened hue, his body collapsing like a ragdoll as his skull smashes through the nightstand. Ranma's inert form gives a whimper as it too collapses atop Ryouga; whose eyes stare silently at the ceiling.

Faster than one could blink, Tofu is at the Lost Boy's side, checking his Ki, his pulse before breathing some amount of relief. "Thank the gods he's not dead. Saotome-san, help me move them to the bed."

Nodoka looks at Tofu with some amount of concern, "But what about his head, Doctor?" She doesn't see blood, but such a collision couldn't have been good for the young boy. She briefly looks at Genma's stoic expression; a clear mask for whatever had been churning around in that pate of his. His arms around her protectively brings her to realization of how fast her heart is beating.

Tofu's eyes gaze through cracked lenses as he offers a hopeful smile, "I'm certain Hibiki-san is fine, Saotome-san. He has a very versatile brainpan from my experiences," Tofu grunts, trying to lift Ryouga's inert form as Genma lifts Ranma's and sets it gently back upon the bed.

He withdraws his arms, shivering as he notes how chilled his son's skin is. A deep physical revulsion at the contact that he cannot comprehend. He looks away, gritting his teeth as his eyes sting again. He would not weep. The time for tears has passed.

"Do you not mean durable, Tofu-san?" She inquires, noting that there didn't SEEM to be any harm to Ryouga's skull. At least from a cursory inspection.

"That too," There's a slight hint of mirth in the Doctor's voice as he removes his glasses, pulling a fresh Pair from a case on his belt and sliding them on. "Much better," He places two fingers on each of Ryouga's arm's, slightly above the elbow. "His Ki is being withdrawn as well, Happosai-san."

Happosai mutters beneath his breath, most of his muttering consisting of a string of rather vulgar derisions for the young Hibiki. Hopping back up on the bed, he proceeds to move around the two inert martial artists, again hemming as he tapped his chin.

Akane stands in the doorway, summoned by sound of the failed Shishi Houkodan. Her eyes widen at seeing Ryouga suddenly side by side with Ranma, a familiar vacant expression on his face. One she has seen quite recently, in Ranma's eyes. "Ryouga!" She rushes to the bedside, reaching out to touch Ryouga's hand before she recoils as Genma had done, shuddering visibly from head to toe. "What happened?! He was fine just a few minutes ago!"

"Akane-chan, can old Happi rest in your bosom for a moment?" His eyes were misted and weary. "Grampa is awfully tired," he isn't half lying, either. He's never looked his age so much as now.

Akane bristles, her hands clenching at her sides as she scowls at Happosai,"Now is REALLY not the time, you pervert! What happened to Ryouga?! Why is he suddenly like Ranma?!" There is a tremble in her voice, as glass straining under immense pressures in the deep sea. She is beginning to comprehend that whatever caused the situation to arise was not entirely the cause of its escalation.

Nodoka extricates herself from the oaken arms of her spouse, shaking hands trying to smooth her kimono while also picking bits of glass out of her hair, "Akane dear, calm down. The Master was just explaining to us all when Ryouga-"

"-When Ryouga decided to be foolish and go whole hog," Happosai finishes for Nodoka. "Idiot boy didn't even care that I had told him I couldn't handle whatever this is!"

"What was that noise, Auntie?" Kasumi stands outside the bedroom door, hand upon the frame as she leans upon it; she pokes her head in cautiously. Behind her; Ukyou, Shampoo, Akarii, Soun, Mousse and Nabiki listen intently.

"Ryouga, dear. He was being a bit too valiant for his own well being," She looks to the bed at the two, doing a double take as she looks at the window frame. She feels a tightness in her chest as she watches thick frost proceed to form upon the window frame.

For the span of ten minutes, the air is awash with voices trying to rise above eachother. Questions, anger, concern floating between all involved.

"Though the boy has the right idea. We can't just sit idly by and watch as both Ranma and Ryouga are devoured by whatever this is," Genma's voice is even, slow. Genma lowers his eyes to his son, brow wrinkling with worry. Hiroshi had been right, they were always so busy with blame that they often forgot what was important.

"Aha!" Happosai holds his pipe aloft before panting and leaning upon it, "Oof, shouldn't exert myself," he points from Ranma to Ryouga, "I see the same light in both of them, keeping whatever this is at bay somehow."

"Ryouga-kun?" Akarii's voice calls out as she tries to peak into the room through the crowded doorway. Her heart skips a beat as she sees Ryouga upon the bed, "Is- is he alright?" She finds herself holding her hands to her chest, feeling faint all of a sudden.

"Well, he's just as poor off as Ranma is… hrmm. Maybe not as bad, on the other hand. Resilient and stubborn seems to be a good combination in this case," Happosai slides off the bed, his feet pad quietly against the floorboards as he paces. "Could be Ranma was in a weakened state over the Miramoto boy's absence, emotional turmoil left him open to attack. Hmmm."

Tofuu shook himself out of his stupor, tearing his eyes from Kasumi as he looked at the bed again. "Mmm," he pushes faintly upon the bridge of his glasses as he closes his eyes. "Yes, I feel a connection. There's a fourth spirit involved in this. Ranma, Ryouga, this dark force, and this other subtle energy."

He raises his head, looking at Happosai and then back at the women in the doorway. His eyes do not cloud as he looks over Kasumi. "I need you all to come into the room. Kasumi-san- d-d-d-do you remember th-th-the Shinzou Fujamiya book which you borrowed from me?"

"Yes, the one about ancient Shibumi and Shintou rituals?" She looks thoughtful, nodding her head affirmatively as her eyes brightened a bit in realization, "Oh, do you mean the Ritual of the Seven Songs?" She shuffles into the room warily, shivering as her breath mists in midair. It was COLD all of a sudden.

"Do you think p-p-perhaps," He gritted his teeth, closing his eyes as his fingers twitched, wanting to cover his ears to try and keep the sweet sound of her voice from driving him mad, "Perhaps you might lead the others in the ritual?"

"Oh," Kasumi hugs herself, looking at everyone in turn. Her serene and detached cheeriness seems to fade as she begins to shiver, her eyes intent upon each face. She nods, a firm, assured nod. "I can."

Genma looks warily at Kasumi, "Tofu-san, what is this ritual? I've never heard about it before," he edged away from the window, snow crunching beneath his feet as he grips his gi. His skin felt numb, his own shoulders shaking. Why was it so damn cold?

"With all due respect, Saotome-san- It's a rather obscure book, and were you familiar with it, you have not been known in the past to read through things," Tofu offers a crestfallen expression at his frankness. He bows to Genma with the grace of a reed in the wind.

The good doctor turns to appraise the girls in the room, giving a supportive smile. "I realize that asking you to do this must be strange and unorthodox, girls. This is all we have right now, and it might give us some time to figure out a something better. It's not a fix, but it's a solution."

The girls exchange glances with each other, noting the determination in the eyes of the others. Nabiki turns her eyes to Tofu, "I don't think you'll be finding any of us opting out, Tofu."

Akarii's hand brushes Akane's, her fingers curl about Akane's as she squeezes supportively.

"I know it has been hard, but it will be alright, Akane-san… I know it will," Her eyes gleam with assurance and fierce resolve. There is no doubt in her heart that both Ryouga and Ranma would be fine.

Akane stares at the girl, conflict evident in her expression. She wanted to believe Akarii, after all there had been so many times when Ranma was in trouble and came through unscathed. Somehow, she felt this would be different somehow. "I hope you're right, Akarii-san."

"Hmmm, that might buy us some time, Tofu-san. Nice to see someone's been studying the problem while I was gone," Happosai feels a begrudging respect for the young Doctor; in the brief experiences he had with young Tofu he had proven to be a competent professional. What Happosai doesn't feel all that well was his fingers.

"I haven't, actually. I had been looking for other solutions to Ranma's loss of Ki. I must confess that I was just as much in the dark about the supernatural nature of this as everyone else," Tofu lifted his glasses, rubbing at his eyes. When was the last time he had slept?

Tofuu turns his attention to indicating where each girl will sit before he straightened. "The Ritual of the Seven Songs; there is a story about seven daughters that forbade the winter ghost of hate from entering into a temple to devour the children using a binding magic of song. It may help in this case," He coughed, lowering his gaze to the ancient Master, "Of course, the men must leave the room."

Soun Tendou's eyes widened, after what had happened with the Hibiki boy, he wasn't sure he wanted all of his daughters alone in the room with whatever this was. "WHAT!? Tofuu-san, What about Kasumi? She isn't trained for this sort of-" Soun's expression hung for a moment as he caught the eyes of his eldest daughter.

Tofu raises his hands in appeasement, noting the tumultuous demeanor of Soun as well as the reservations of the others. "I trust Kasumi when she says she can do something, she has taken care of us all in the past, and would not make an empty promise were she not certain she was up to the task. I also know she's more familiar with this book than I am, though I own it."

Her face is changed. A mere hour before, there was uncertainty and guilt, concern over what harm she may have done. The book which Tofu had mentioned she had borrowed almost religiously over the years, completely engrossed in the nature and artistry of ancient Shinto.

"Do not worry, Father. I am prepared, and I know what to do in this case. You need not worry for us, I will make sure nothing bad happens," She gave that familiar smile, as determination seemed to spark in her eyes. She had failed Ranma once, she would not again. She would protect them both from harm.

Nodoka raises a delicate hand as the young doctor starts pulling Genma towards the door, "Tofu-san, you said there were seven girls in this ritual, I see only Six," Her eyes move to her hands as she begins to count, "Akane, Nabiki, Kasumi, Shampoo, Ukyou and Akarii," She looked at each girl, noting that the fear which had been gripping them over Ranma's plight seemed to have all but vanished.

Tofu pauses to turn and look at Nodoka, "Saotome-san," He is still a moment, mute as the reflection of the full moon upon a lake. "While it may be- ur- unorthodox, you were the Daughter of your mother, and you will have to suffice for the seventh."

"I see," She looks to the Tendou daughters, finding the eyes of the middle daughter locked firmly upon her. "Yes, well… if this is what it takes to spare my son's life, then I shall do so," She purses her lips, looking away from Nabiki to the still body of her once vibrant child.

Tofu pauses at the doorway, looking back at the women in Saotome Ranma's life. He cannot help but feel that fate had led them here, tied to the maddening chaos of Nerima Ward and Ranma's life itself. He meets eyes with Kasumi again, feeling that need to let go and go mad himself, those soulful eyes that seemed to cause his brain to melt. "Kasumi, be careful. It will probably try to interfere. Stay focused."

Kasumi glides quietly to the bedside, the soft and tender skin on the back of her hand sliding across the cheeks of both Ryouga and Ranma. She feels the cold revulsion, putting it aside of herself as she smiles, "All will be alright," She says quietly. She sees the corner of Ranma's lips, the faint hint of a smile even though he is still deeply troubled.

Kasumi reaches upwards, grasping the comb in her hair and removing it, her brown tresses falling in a feathery frame around her face. Fingers tangle, grasp, twist as she fastens her hair back in a French braid before pulling some string from her apron and tying off the end. Her expression changes as she straightens, looking at her sisters. "We will begin now. I will tell each of you what to sing, and when to. Please do not forget."

A shiver runs down the spines of those present. There is a tone of command in Kasumi's voice, of unwavering security. The gentility of it has not vanished, but there is a strength in her voice now that had never been directed at any of them before.

"Are you all ready?" The eldest Tendou daughter asks, favoring each with her eyes at least once.

The answer came at once and in Unison.

"Hai."


	21. The East Wind Blows

A pale silver light softens the edges, the colors, the shades. Bleeding into eachother, they form an almost pastel tableau of strangely surreal surroundings. Nothing quite seems solid, nothing quite seems real.

It is like faded chalk upon the walk, yet with such vividness and clarity as to be almost painful to the eyes. Ryouga finds himself at times needing to shut them, to not look at the intensity.

He turns his gaze to his own hands, which seem too sharp, too solid. Far more than the imagery surrounding him. "Where am I?" His voice is muffled, muted, as if heard at a distance to even himself.

There is a mirror on the wall, reflecting light in the same pastel wonderland as all else. He vaguely sees the shape of his face. It is unfamiliar to him, strange angles and corners that are alien to his spotty recollection. His head feels filled with fluff, dense with it.

His throat growls, hands clutching at his ears as he inwardly seethes at the disorientation. His eyes open and he looks at the figure he is sharing a room with.

It is an old man, spindly in appearance with a hawkish nose. Spectacles hover halfway down the bridge as he reads. He is not entirely bald, a goodly mane of hair remaining atop his head, the hair brushed back to give it a windswept look.

He lies upon a bed, several warm blankets wrapped snugly around him. Assumedly it is to keep him warm, but it also gives evidence that there is little more to the man than skin and bone.

The old man's lips move, though he does not speak, murmuring lightly the words he reads as if meditating upon them. He pauses after some minutes and leans against the headboard, breathing somewhat laboriously before suffering a coughing fit. He supplies from his nightstand a cloth as the coughs grow quite ragged.

Ryouga feels his heart sink as he sees blood on the old man's lips, dabbed away by the cloth. The old man sets it aside, breathing deeply several times. He knew, somehow, that the man had consumption of the lungs, and little time to live.

His mind buzzes lightly as he moves to view the face-up, open book the man had been looking over. It was some sort of personal book, poems and personal thoughts written throughout. The date was 1779.

Before the chill could pass entirely through him as he wondered exactly how he got quite THIS lost, the carved Oak bedroom door opened, and a young lady of some 16 years stumbled in a bit, carrying a brown paper package tied up with string.

There was a definite fairness about her, though she was also somewhat thin, she had the hints of womanhood about her and a well kept brown braid. Her freckled face was cute, but not quite beautiful. No, it remained for her eyes to do her justice; their rich emerald hue seeming vivid and solid to Ryouga's notice.

She was dressed in the fashion of the time, though somewhat understated and not quite refined. Everything about her, sans her eyes, spoke of someone who felt a profound unremarkableness about themselves.

"Uncle Antony, I do hope I am not intruding," Her voice was paper thin and gentle, with a small hint of squeek as she ended her sentence. She gave a half-hearted smile, her hands holding the package delicately against her midriff.

The old man, Antony, coughs briefly before he makes a dismissing gesture, "Mary, child, don't ever think you aren't welcome here. Now what have you got there?"

"It's- It's a gift, Uncle," She Moves forward, carefully she sits beside the bed, being sure to keep the flows of her skirt from catching or ripping as she sat. She sets the package upon Antony's lap. There is a blush to her cheeks as she looks at him, a faint smile and a hint of tears.

Ryouga moved around the two of them, baffled as to how he came to be here as well as what was going on. He was somewhere else a moment ago… wasn't he? It was cold.

Antony's face wrinkles in a smile. He takes his spectacles from his face, setting it gently aside on the nighstand. "Don't worry, Mary. I'm only dying, it isn't any more severe than that," He coughs into the cloth a moment more, gesturing towards the tea table across the room, "Mary dear, please… bring me some tea."

Her lip quivers slightly, looking into his deep blue eyes. "Yes, Uncle," She rises up, smoothing the pleats upon her dress as she moves to the tea, her movements are smooth, practiced, elegant. She hums softly to herself as she pours the tea, moving with the saucer and cup back to the bedside as she hands it to Antony.

"Yes, quite… thank you dear, evermost good of you," He cups her chin for a moment, smiling again as he sips his tea. Turning his attention to the package he mm's quietly, a sad look in his eyes as he unwraps the package.

Ryouga peers intently at the box as it is opened. A delicate copper and glass piano sits inside. He watches as the thin, wrinkled fingers of Antony lift the piece out. "You know, when I was younger, I could play the piano."

"You could, uncle?" She leans upon the bed, her eyes looking with such love at the older man, fascination and perhaps regret.

He laughs somewhat raggedly as he sets his saucer and cup down, winding the small music box slowly with one hand. "You want me to tell you, I suppose… well, my mother insisted that I learn. It was not just piano, though. When I put my mind to it, I could do anything… and did."

Antony gets a far off look as music begins to chime out of the small piano. He sets it delicately on the nightstand, next to his glasses as he takes up his tea again, sipping. He looks at the young girl, so beautiful and of tender years. Her family had long lived with his, not specifically family of blood but of necessity. Were he fourty years younger…

"Yes, well… my mother bought me a Cristofori Piano for my twentieth birthday, even though I insisted my time was better spent upon bettering my social standing and athletics. I was not always so much for culture, a great misfortune which I have long regretted in knowing you."

Mary's cheeks redden, her eyes looking at her folded hands in her lap as she fidgets briefly, "You give too much respect to me, Uncle… I'm just a girl."

"Never say that," His tone is cutting as he sets his cup upon the saucer, favoring Mary with piercing eyes, his blue gaze intense and inscrutable, untamable. "You are not just a girl, Mary. You are my friend, as has always been since the day you were born. You have a keen mind and sharp wit."

He shakes a finger at her, "You have gifts and talents which God has given you to use, not to waste. Girl or not," He pauses, softening as he looks down in his tea, he finishes the cup, feeling somewhat faint already.

"Yes, Uncle," She has tears in her eyes, sniffling as she looks up at Antony's pale face. "I love you, Antony," A lone tear journey's down her cheek as she looks at the old man.

He nods, shifting in bed into a laying position. "Oh, I know dear child. Would that I could say that you reminded me of my dear wife… she was sometimes difficult," He half smiles, "Oh, perhaps if I was of marrying age I'd remarry… I do favor you quite a bit myself, my dear."

"WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON!!!" Ryouga's voice seems lost in a wind tunnel, faint and ghostly as he jaunts around the room, looking out the windows.

"WHO IS DOING THIS?! WHAT IS HAPPENING!" Again, he is muted…. Silent as snow upon a mountain top.

"Uncle, you say such flattering things to me," She takes his hand into hers, touching it to her face, "But would be for wishes only, however much we may."

"Promise me you will not let your femininity hamper you, Mary… that you will staunchly refuse to be pigeon-holed into your genders so convenient shapes and forms, do not lose your soul, your passion, and do note how seriously I take a word said in honor. If you redoubt my plee, I promise to haunt you always in the most irritable of fashions," He smiles again at her, stroking her lips with his thumb.

"I- I promise, Antony… I promise," Her tears flow freely now, down her face. She laughs lightly even as the tears slide down her face. "You always could make me laugh."

"You as well, though my laughing is more inward, my dear," He wipes her tears away as he reaches down and grasps her hand. "I am not long for this world, I'm afraid. The tea, you see-"

"I know," She nods, a bit too emphatically as she bites her lower lip, "I know, Antony."

"Sing for me, my dear. I want to hear your voice one last time," He squeezes her hand tightly.

Ryouga pauses, turning to look at the girl and old man. He watches as the girl caresses Antony's hands with her fingertips, eyes lowered lightly, before she began to sing in the most painfully beautiful voice...

"Oh love, so sweet and long delayed

That you could meet me on the glen

To share in sweetness, for a day.

My darling one, your own sweet smile,

Can charm and cheer and soon beguile

That darkest shadowed part of me

And keep me well worthwhile.

We have not long before the dance,

So brief a kiss, and half a glance

Do keep me in your secret arms

And give us half a chance.

You part now dear, but all too soon

My heart is full, it has no room

To spare for a soul of different hue

Of this, I cannot choose.

You are far apart of me,

Going home to sun-warmed fields

Your deep blue eyes, I cannot see…

And so, we all must sleep dear friend,

Our moment now has come to end."

Her cheeks are wet as she stops, squeezing the lifeless hand of Antony as she throws herself upon him, kissing him gently on the lips, his eyes closed. "Oh, Antony… I am broken to pieces, and cannot mend my love," She trembles as she holds to his lifeless body.

Ryouga pressed himself against the wall, watching the girl tremble and shake with her sobs. He does not know why he sees this, why he is here. His fragile heart wants to console the girl, to tell her of sweet dreaming of a great beyond, assure her that her love is not passed but only waiting.

"You should not be here," The voice is rich, powerful, gentle yet decidedly male. There is a practiced calmness in the tone, as well as a hint of… silver.

"Who are you, and where the heck am I?" Ryouga turns to the strange visage, outlined in the same starkness as himself. His robes a pale silver in the light, gold kanji hemmed around the sleeves and hood.

The robed figure shifts, wisps of pale blue hair glanced as it stops in front of Ryouga, "I am a servant of the Kami, and you are in the dreamtime," a hand raises, kanji visibly tattooed upon the back of the hand as the self proclaimed servant gestures at Mary and Antony. "They linger in the river which runs deepest, memories of the soul and sorrows."

"Memories," Ryouga mouths, a faint hint of reverence before he shakes his head, "My memories?" He asks, holding his head in great confusion. No, that didn't seem right. He was doing something, somewhere- else.

The figure locks his hands together, the robe sleeves hiding both, "No. You are as much a stranger here as I am. You do not belong here, but you could not be left to vanish into the void."

"The void?" Ryouga clenches his fists, growling at the figure as he moves to grab him. Stumbling, he looks at the space where the stranger had been.

"These are his memories," The figure stands behind Ryouga, pointing a long finger at the silent form of Antony. "Many lives, all kept within the river of the spirit; alive in the dreamtime, eternal ghosts of the past."

Ryouga growls, launching toward him again, fists moving through thin air, his kicks meeting only the door. "Stay still, dammit!"

The robed man tilts his head slightly, favoring a small smile for Hibiki Ryouga. "Though you should not be here, perhaps you can assist in saving the boys soul."

"Boy?" Ryouga pauses, hands squeezing tightly in fists as his eyes widened in realization, "Ranma."

"Though you were delivered from oblivion by my hand, I must confess that I had trouble finding you here in the dreamtime. Something I am unequivocally unaccustomed to," His hands move upwards, pinching the fabric of his cowl before revealing his face.

There is a regality, a finely chiseled appearance to the robed figures face. His violet eyes glow with a gentility beyond mere mortality. His hair is an electric blue, bright and shining with an almost metallic glow. Most notable of his features are the markings upon his cheeks, the diamond tiara upon his forehead, and a distinct point to his ears.

"Not something I'm very proud of, if you're referring to how easily I get lost," Ryouga restrains himself, uncertain how this man could be dodging him so effortlessly. Even Ranma gave the appearance of movement when they were in a brawl.

There is a brief look of surprise on the figures face before he smiled, pronounced canines apparent in his grin. "You're a Hibiki, then."

"Is that supposed to be an insult, old man?" He grabs an end table by the door and launched it at the figure, watching to see how he moves.

Ryouga's eyes grow in shock as the figure does not so much move as flicker and flow, like wind or mist. There is a soft metallic sound, like chimes upon the wind. Silver wind.

He materializes again, a gentle laugh like a fresh spring day, "Oh, my child, not at all," He smiles, genuinely at Ryouga. "I had no insight that Ranma had such a valuable friend as you. But then, that is not a surprise if you are a Hibiki."

Ryouga scoffs, gritting his teeth as he circles the man, eyeing him warily. "Friend? I guess. I'm not going to let that jerk die, it would hurt Akane too much," He inwardly curses. He was uncertain if this… entity was the creature causing Ranma's condition or if it was being sincere.

Again, he clasps hands together, bowing a bit to Ryouga as he speaks, "I understand your doubts about me. Truly, I do not believe the feelings of another were the reasons for your action," His eyes look deepy into Ryouga's, unsettling the young Hibiki.

Ryouga turns his eyes away, growling, "Hey, I do what I want, it's none of your business you creepy… whatever you are."

"I am a servant of the Kami, as was stated before. Holy Priest of the East Wind, Vintarou-Ryuu," He is calm, unabashed at the confrontational tone Ryouga was attempting to incite him with. "You are right, that your reasons are your own. It is only that your selflessness bodes well for Ranma's sake."

"Tch. Look, Whatever. How do I get out of here?" He feels somewhat weary all of a sudden, like a strange coldness was seeping into everything.

Vintarou's smile fades suddenly. "If he that dreams lives, so too shall they that journey upon the same path," He replaces the hood, his face grim and resolute in that instant. "It comes now, to do away with you. Perhaps there is still hope for the boy, but you must go now."

"Where the hell am I supposed to go, old man?!" Ryouga throws his hands up, gritting his teeth as Vintarou starts to flow away, evaporating as he moves towards the window of the room.

"Go through the door, and continue… your spirit should find its way to the center, to the master, to the dreamer," Vintarou's arms thrust forward in a series of hand gestures, almost like a dance. His voice recites several long, sonorous notes.

"What!?" Ryouga starts to storm towards the self professed Priest before he pauses, feeling a tremendous sinking in his soul. Like everything had just turned to ice as he sees an absolute black outside of the window.

"Run, Hibiki Ryouga. Run," There was no panic in his voice, only determination and calm. Yet there was a sense of urgency conveyed, not for himself, but for Ryouga.

Ryouga decides that perhaps it is the wisest decision, turning he tears the door off its hinges and rushes through. He stumbles for a moment as his feet find no purchase, his arms searching for the walls before he realized there were none, "Oh- Oh SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-!"

Ryouga Hibiki begins to fall into the vast, dark unknown.


	22. Ritual of the Seven

Cool, soft fingers caress the foreheads of the two slumbering figures nestled within Akane's bed. They are moist with herbal tea, tracing lines across their brow, across both of their lips. A voice accompanies the touch, light and even in its grace.

Her words are sung in a steady, warming cadence as she cups both their cheeks, her eyes close as she presses her warm palms against the cold, clammy flesh of their foreheads. A strange almost wordless hymn that was warming and kind.

Kasumi Tendou straightens, shifting her feet slightly as she lifts the broad iron brazier from the foot of the bed. Her eyes are intense, willful, focused upon some grand design as she speaks.

"Here now we seven gather, oh Kami-sama. Daughters and sisters alike," Gone is the voice of the kind and gentle eldest daughter, replaced now with a commanding air of a noble priestess. She lifts the brazier, fingers holding lightly against its broad bottom, "Here is our vessel, that which makes us one, this where offerings are placed to ask your blessing. Here, where our wills intermingle as one."

"As One," The other girls chime in unison. They look with great unease at each other as the walls seem to pop and groan; the room suddenly replete with a strange, chilling density.

Kasumi holds aloft the brazier in one hand, striking the lip with a single finger, "Here now we are your eyes, looking as one eye looks outward, great Kami-sama. Here, our backs turned inwards to those our hearts share as one."

They each turn right, their backs towards Kasumi and the bed as their lips part and they all speak once more, "As One."

Again, Kasumi strikes the lip of the brazier, speaking in as crisp and even a tone as before, "They are children to us, blessed and beloved, Kami-sama. It is their hearts that we pray now for, to guard against dark intent," Her hand hovers over Ranma's head, then Ryouga's. Her lips move briefly as she holds her palm over each, whispering quiet syllables inaudible to the others.

She looks briefly upon them again, concern flickering across her eyes before she grasps a cup at the foot of the bed and tosses it into the brazier.

With a whooshing noise, white flame suddenly flowers within the brazier, "We ask of the fire, whose impetuous nature gave pause to Kami-Sama. In great wisdom did they give us water, and reed that we may contain him."

She holds in both hands the brazier once more, feeling the heat in her hands as she cups the edges tentatively. "He is welcome now, Kami-sama, as bringer of light to this home. Let the light he brings us be the light of Kami, to warm the circle and cast out all cold."

"Let the fire stand as the resolution of our one soul," The girls recite, each raising their voice one by one in a series of seven sonorous notes. Each feels the tingle of music on their skin and a strange sense of togetherness.

The floor suddenly lurches; the walls creak quite audibly as the room visibly darkens. The fluorescent bulbs in the lamps dim to an eerie blackness, shadows stretching longer on the walls. Nabiki squeaks loudly as she loses her balance, falling hard on her rump.

Kasumi flinches, ready to move as a very harsh cold seems to rush into the circle that had been formed, ready to help Nabiki to her feet. Her hands grasp more firmly the edges of the round brazier, her heart pounding faster as Akarii and Nodoka help Nabiki quickly to her feet.

The cold seeps slowly from around the bed. Kasumi falters briefly, "W-we ask the f-fire- the flame to- to," She pauses, panicking as she hears wood framing the walls creaking in a dangerous tone. She looks around, wondering what she was doing here, if it would make any difference at all.

Clenching her eyes closed as she felt tears begin to well within them, she shakes her head firmly and opens them again, speaking slightly louder. "The fire is our beacon, resolute and unflinching by the glare of any evil. Unquenched by the devouring gaze that designs our hearts demise."

"I shall not move!" Each speaks the words with intensity, feeling a pressure behind them as well as in front. Akane's jaw is set, her hands hold two objects; a strip of cloth and a small block of wood. The other's mirror her, holding similar small items in their hands.

"I look outward, at the Heaven's, to beckon Kami-Sama's favor. To the four corners, does my gaze seek; hardened upon the four pillars that hold the heaven's," She holds the brazier again at arms length, striking firmly again at the edge of the pan with a sonorous ringing tone, "We sisters beseech of you with these gifts, Kami-Sama, to call upon the pillars of Heaven and the winds of the world to fly swift into this place, and reside in the hearts of these ailing children."

"K-Kasumi?! Problem-" Nabiki's voice is edgy as her body tenses, noticing the shadows around the room seeming to writhe and lengthen, edging towards them. With a loud cracking noise, the house lurches hard to the left, throwing every girl onto the floor except for Kasumi, surprisingly enough.

Shampoo landed with a hard thump on the ground, groaning as she rubbed at her chest; that had definitely hurt. "Hiyaa, is very bad," The cracking noise grows louder; A large fissure forming on the ceiling. A bone-chilling wind fills the room as the darkness deepens around them.

Akarii screams, wrapping her arms tightly around the leg of Akane's bed… a thick, dark miasma oozing up her calves, "Th-the cold!" She chatters, her breath hanging in mid-air from the frigid air. She doesn't feel her feet, her legs; as if below the creeping shadows there simply was nothing. No pain, no ghostly sensation, merely nothing.

Her heart begins to pound in her ears.

Kasumi sets the brazier at the foot of the bed, pulling from her apron two priestesses wands, a layer of frost caking one side of her arm and face as she strikes at the shadows climbing Akarii's legs. A loud whispering sound ushers from the wands as the paper _Shide_ flutter in the wind.

They recoil from the sound, seeming to shrink back as the girls pick themselves up. Akari trembles, "I- I cannot feel my legs!" She yells, the howl of the wind carrying a stale hopelessness into the room. The ceiling crumbles upwards, a pitch black spiral of clouds blotting out the sky and seeming to suck in all light.

The room begins to darken, the faint reflective sheen of the freshly frosted furniture losing its pale glimmer. The wind blasted through the open ceiling, tearing and ripping at the clothes of every woman present, ice forming quickly on the floorboards as Ukyou and Akane lifted Akari up, bracing her arms with their shoulders.

Kasumi shook visibly from the cold, setting the wands down to lift the brazier again, speaking as smoothly as she could "-Th-These o-offerings re-represent th-the f-four pillars and w-winds, to b-bind this d-darkness!"

"West! Whose kiss brings light and warmth!" Akari managed, feeling lightheaded. Akane and Ukyou turned her towards Kasumi, and she cast a small metal bell into the dimming fires of the brazier with a sprig from an evergreen. The moment she did so, the cold seemed to recoil from them as the sharp noise of the bell rang, the fire bursting again to life myseriously.

Nabiki thrusts her hand towards the fire, casting a black feather wrapped in fine red silk into it, "The East, whose mischief brings change and transformation!" She cries out, squeaking as the fire flared strongly, leaning back to keep her eyebrows from being singed.

"South, who bring great fortune and bounty!" Shampoo chants, turning her back to the room and facing Kasumi. She thrusts her hands into the fire, casting a handful of rice and a small folded paper crane into the fire, the fire undulating and licking against the edges of the brazier, along Kasumi's fingers.

"The North, which brings peace and reflection!" Nodoka turns towards the fire and runs her fingers along the edges of the silver hand-mirror before casting it in. Smoke billows forth for a moment before the flame took on a bright white color.

A crackling noise rapidly approaches from the sky, as each girls eyes turn skyward, Kasumi leaps backward as a jagged column of ice forms in the place she had been standing. The object seemed loud, but made no noise at all. A faint bristling of energy seemed to pulse from it.

"Frozen Lightning…" The Saotome Matriarch muttered, half in awe and half in terror. She held more tightly to the hands joined with hers. Her words were numb and barely audible, the strange quiet emanating from the frigid column seeming to drown out noise itself.

"I cast this cloth, and this wood into the flame that it may serve as conduit to Kami-Sama's will, let she who weaves make protection for us. Let those that look on stand watch and bar ill intent," Akane recited with closed eyes, trembling slightly as she cast her own objects into the fire.

She opened them as she felt the flare of the flame, looking at Kasumi's face which was a mask of determination, even though she trembled from the thin sheen of ice still clinging to her hair and skin. Her hands held fast to the brazier.

She blinked, looking upon the bed to Ranma, who was curled and trembling from the cold, slight and feminine. Then her heart and mind skipped a beat. On the bed beside her was P-Chan, who trembled with the same chill.

"Where's Ryouga?" She mouths, her words practically drowned out by the muteness inducing column. Even so, everyone's eyes shoot up to meet with hers. All of them wear a stricken expression, all but Kasumi who is rocking back and forth and chanting quietly, her face twisting in concentration as the effort shows, her body trembling and shaking violently while she holds fast to the brazier.

Suddenly, it all falls into place. The taunting, the teasing, and the brazen attitude the two had for each other. Everything clicked in that moment, that it was impossible for Ryouga to have disappeared. Akane felt a strange veil of rage begin to descend over her, the many nights she had spent with the small Piglet, in various states of undress.

"Ryouga is P-CHAN!?" She yells angrily, her fingers beginning to slip from the hands of those she holds onto to complete the circle. "RYOUGA?!" She wants to beat the little piglet to a pulp all of a sudden.

She heard someone saying her name. They might've been screaming, it was hard to tell in the incredible silence and the smothering darkness seeming to seep in all around. Then suddenly, Ukyou grabbed her and turned to look her face to face, a light slap on her cheek caused her head to clear, looking into the other girls eyes.

"Ranma is dying. Get your priorities straight!" Ukyou yelled against the cacophony of silence. The ground begin to shift and warp violently, the bed jumping and bouncing from the deformation.

"Don't break the-!" Nabiki's scream is cut off as she is launched like a ragdoll into the opposite wall.

Shampoo tries to plant herself, the shifting floor making it impossible as she feels herself careening through the air and out the open window, she feels her skin stinging as ice forms along it

Akari's screams are the only thing audible as she clings to the bedpost, liquid darkness crawling up her body.

Nodoka tries to cradle Ranma's inert form, but as she reaches for the red-head the dresser opposite the bed smashes into her from the side. She buckles from the pain, curling into her own ball of suffering.

Akane threw her arms up as various loose objects began smashing into her, trying to punch the breakable things and deflect the objects that are too large to break. The wind seems to grab her and throw her bodily through the door where she collapses onto the ground. She looks up, her eyes foggy as everything seems briefly kaleidoscopic before she finds the mild concussion she just suffered claiming her consciousness.

Ukyou brandishes her large oven-spatula, holding it in front of her as objects crash against its surface, and planting it firmly into the ground to prevent herself from sliding out. She throws her weight into the toss as she lobs a small bag of freshly turned earth into the fire, "And Earth, that we may forbid dark spirits from this realm!"

She holds fast to the spatula, the wind stinging her eyes and face, her arms numb and the skin of her hands frozen to the metal of the spatula. She looks at Kasumi to finish the ritual, her heart sinking in despair as she sees Kasumi's body caked in a thickening sheet of ice, the fire itself seeming to flicker and die a moment as the bag evaporates in a puff of smoke.

What was the use of trying? She wondered. It was hopeless; there was no defeating this force. They should never have even bothered to try. She felt herself growing cold and withdrawn, a growing desire for all of this suffering to end in quiet oblivion.

Then, the Brazier exploded in a brilliant shower of light and sound.


	23. All Rivers Meet at the Sea

Visible sparks of light parade across Daisuke's vision, even though moments ago he had shielded his eyes from the intense brightness that had suddenly blasted forth from the direction of the dojo. His head aches as if it were vibrating like a gong struck a little too hard.

"What in the name of Kurosawa was that?" He murmurs breathlessly. The specks of light continue their merry pirrhouetting across his vision as he turns to look at the elder Miramoto sibling.

Her teeth are clenched, and for the second time in her life she felt a deep and abiding sense of forboding. The small hairs on the back of her neck were standing as straight as roman phalanx. "Something just... exploded," She posits, bringing her own spotty vision to rest on Daisuke's bespectacled gaze.

They nod in unison and start running towards the Dojo, their breaths making a strange crackling noise as it mists in the air. Daisuke hefts the brown cardboard box in both his arms as he stumbles after Memeko, almost barrelling into her as she pauses at the gates of the Tendou Residence.

As he turns the corner, he joins her in stunned silence. Pitch black smoke rises from the north corner of the household in large, billowing plumes. The entire upper level of the north side was... missing. Gone.

_No, not gone... just everywhere_. Daisuke tears his eyes from the smoke to the ground surrounding the house, noticing planks of wood and strange knick knacks, presumably from Akane's room, strewn about and half covered in the snow.

That isn't all that was strewn about, though. Daisuke almost drops the box before gently setting it down and rushing to one of the crumpled forms lying in the snow, "Memeko! Give me a hand over here!" He yells, scraping snow off the trembling figure. He finds some of the snow quite packed, almost forming a shell of ice around the person.

"A little busy, Dai!" She calls from across the yard. Daisuke favored a gaze over at her to see her quickly wrapping Ranma's trembling, female form in wool blankets. Daisuke notices how frail Ranma appears, her skin about as white as the snow itself; the slow, misty wisps ushering from her lips the only evidence of life.

Daisuke turns back to the figure in his arms, having cleared away enough of the snow to see, "Holy Crap! Kasumi!" Daisuke started trying to pull off large chunks of the ice, Kasumi's body shook violently as she tried to provide a smile.

"D-Daisuke-kun... wh-what are you doing here?" She chattered out, her smile coming across manic from the obviously scared expression in her eyes.

Daisuke shook his head, trying to wrap his prodigious gray matter around the situation, "Oh, well... you know, I've always wanted to see inside Akane's room. I just didn't expect it would be on the lawn," He cracked, not sure exactly how he was supposed to answer Kasumi. "What the hell happened?"

"That's a pretty fair description, Daisuke," Nabiki had ice abrasions on the left side of her face and the entirety of her left arm. "Welcome to the party, I'll be sure to ask the devil if you want some of the cake," Her voice was raw and cracked in several points. She looked like someone had beaten her with two dozen shovels before throwing her into the middle of a midget mosh pit.

Which was, to say, that she looked worn and battered. "Ahh... that bad?" He asks as he tried to lift Kasumi into his arms and promptly fell over on top of her, causing her to issue a sharp yell as her entire body twinged from the impact.

Nabiki coughed, wiping the blood from her lips with the back of her hand. "Dammit, Daisuke, what are you doing here? We have enough problems WITHOUT you making wise-cracks!" She reaches down and pulls Daisuke off of her sister, helping Kasumi to her feet. The eldest Tendou leans heavily on her sister, looking quite a bit worse for wear than Nabiki did.

"WE came to HELP," Memeko chimes, her arms protectively holding Ranma close to her. "You obviously needed it five minutes ago, Tendou-san," Her tone is kurt, and short.

Daisuke Scowled as he noted the other girls on the lawn managing to pick themselves back up, "Yes, Help. Why is Kasumi an otter-pop? Why is Akane's Room performing postmodernism? And, if I failed to ask earlier... but that I am pretty sure I in fact, did, in fact ask... WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?"

Nabiki looked at Ukyou as she hobbled up, leaning heavily upon her spatula, the chef nodded briefly to Nabiki to let her know she would be fine. The middle daughter turned back to Daisuke, "Yeah, well, that's going to take some explaining. As with everything to do with Ranma."

He returned to his cardboard box, "Yes, well... I brought something that might be able to help figure out what is wrong with Ranma, or- at least keep track of various biological nuances that might give a variable indication of-" He paused as he recollected Ami once telling him that he sometimes took a long road to a short thought. "I brought something that might help."

"F-father-? Tofuu- Mr. Saotome- Happosai...?" Kasumi mouths, still trembling as chunks of ice drop from her clothes. Daisuke pauses to look again at Kasumi. There was something unmeasurably different about her, a strange subtly that evaded his grasp.

Nabiki shook her head, "The concussion probably knocked all of them out."

"Not true, Nabiki m'dear!" The shrivelled pervert's voice echoed as he bounded out onto the lawn. A few of his curly white hairs are singed, his face smudged with soot here and there. He stops at Daisuke's feet. "Eh? Who's the dork with the four eyes?" Happosai scrutinizes Daisuke, popping from on the ground onto the boys Head, "And what's in the box?"

He ineffectually swats at the shrivelled pervert, "Ow! Hey, my head is not an ottoman, man!" Then his hand shoots out to catch the edge of the box he had just let slip, stumbling and falling flat on his rear, the box thankfully safe along with it's contents.

"I dunno, Dai; it is full of fluffy grey stuff," Nabiki quips, wondering at why she suddenly feels as if a tremendous pressure had evaporated from around her. She had no business feeling as- chipper as she felt.

Daisuke kicks his left leg in repition at the continuously bouncing decrepit master, "Makes a better doorstop."

Ukyou breaks out into a smile, then quickly her expression changes to one of contemplation. She clears her throat, "Do any of you guys feel... Different?"

Each meets the others eyes, an occasional nod of thoughtful acquiescence. "It's been a while since- Well, I mean, I'm feeling really cheery for some reason. It's totally inappropriate to the situation," Memeko looks down at the person in her arms, feeling a twinge of concern. Even so, she felt brimful with a general warmth. It was odd... in recent weeks she had been tired, dejected, almost unable to function on some days. The concern for her brother quite palpable, the concern over Ranma even more so.

Daisuke looks up at the girls around him, noting to himself that it has also been a long time since he hadn't felt the need to force humor about the situation. "For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction."

Happosai nods sagaciously, "Four eyes is right, I guess you girls managed to pull off the Ritual. Of course, it only buys Ranma and us some time to think... whatever this is isn't going to stop to smell the daisies." His hands went searching on his person, "Blast it, where's my pipe," His regular hiding place finds the item absent.

Memeko looks again at Ranma as dainty arms wrap around her. The redhead's eyes are still closed as if in sleep, but her lips quietly murmur her brother's name, causing her heart to twinge lightly. She gently thumbs Ranma's bangs from her brow, quivering as she senses a wriggling, maggoty coldness that still seems to cling to the slight girl. She brings her eyes up to bear on Happosai, a delicate brow arching. "Wait, Ritual? What Ritual?"

"The Ritual of the Seven Songs," Kasumi's eyes flutter, struggling to stay open. Despite the strange warmth that has occupied the cadre of friends and family around her, she feels for all the world more tired than any day she has ever lived.

Nabiki struggles to hold her sister up, grunting from the effort. "I think we need to get everyone back inside, this standing in the snow thing is getting old very quickly. Ukyou, give me a hand?"

The chef nods, quickly taking up Kasumi's other side. "Are you doing okay, Kasumi-chan?"

The eldest Tendou gave a half-hearted smile to the young Okonomiyaki chef, "Oh, I think it's safe to say I feel quite as bad as I've ever felt, but... relieved, oddly." Her voice is raw; tired and wispy.

Memeko favors Kasumi with her attention, noting that she seems of them all the worse for wear as she rolls the words around in her head. "Who was head priestess?"

The ragged appearance of the eldest Tendou is not lost upon the young Nakano Daisuke, "Judging by appearances, Memeko-san, I'd guess it was probably Kasumi," He isn't familiar with rituals or religious practices, so decides to forgo any pesonal queries into the strange and spiritual.

"As sharp as always, Daisuke, C'mon, Ucchan.. let's get her inside and to a bed," Nabiki and Ukyou hobble a bit, carrying their own battered selves as well as the weight of Kasumi on their shoulders.

He looks after the girls, turning back to Memeko, "I'm going to head in and set up... it'll take a little while. From the sounds of it, there's a lot more going on here than I thought. We'll probably need Ranma for all of this as well."

She takes her warm, red winter coat from around herself, wrapping Ranma in it as her mind slides over and back upon a mental exercise to free herself from the cold. She notes how tightly Ranma's hands are balled into her shirt, and how the girl presses herself fearfully against her body eliciting mild whimpers as her face occassionally twists in pain. Holding the redhead close she closes her eyes briefly, breathing in and out. "Oh Ranma, don't worry. We're all fighting for you."

"Hiroshi," Ranma exhales; audible, clear, her face seeming to ease for a moment as a look of centered calm spreads across her face, her hands relaxing as her body becomes slack in Memeko's arms.

Miramoto Memeko finds her heart pounding inside of her head, her eyes widening as she doesn't feel the rhythm of breath or life within Ranma. She starts running for the front doors of the Tendou household, her own breath the only sound she can hear.

And then a pealing scream tears out of Ranma's mouth, her body thrashing in Memeko's embrace, twitching and spasming as if in incredible pain. She looks down as her head vibrates from the scream to see Ranma's eyes wide open, but nothing but blackness staring out of them; the whites completely absent of her vision as she inhales again and let's out another shrill, skull pounding screech.

She bursts through the front door as the screaming continues, a heartrending wail of agony and despair. She can feel her lips moving, trying to tell the dazed Dr. Tofuu that something was terribly wrong as he crouched clinically over his dear Kasumi with trembling hands.

Everyone present winces as the screaming continues, trying to cover their ears. Tofuu says something to Nabiki twice, before the middle Daughter rushes outside. Memeko tries to extricate herself from Ranma's hold, her ears starting to have trouble hearing the screaming itself as everything is starting to sound quite a bit like cotton. It was no avail, as Ranma's arms refused to let go of Memeko.

She thinks she asks for help as the redhead clings to her, Tofu stepping around Akane, Nodoka, and Kasumi to help pry Ranma off of Memeko. Shampoo steps forward to help as well, and between the three of them, manage to pry Ranma off. The redhead twists and squirms as she screams, the three having to hold her down on the pallet next to the other injured women. The screaming stops abruptly as Nabiki steps back through the doorway, a small black piglet in her hands.

Ranma's eyes snap shut immediately as she seems to fall back into a slumber. Memeko pants, hearing only her own heartbeat in her head. She looks around at those present, watching as their lips move but no sound comes out. Her eyes widen as her hands drift up to cup her ears. _Am I deaf?_ She wonders absently, a bit of fear in the realization.

She scoots close to the wall, hugging her knees as she looks around at the situation. Nodoka looked badly beaten, Akarii was obviously in pain from her expression, her legs and hands colored a dull black color, as was much of her clothing. She twitched periodically, mouthing something about cold.

Akane seemed only to be sleeping, possibly the least battered looking of the group aside from Shampoo. Slowly, Memeko began to hear the muffled voices of her compatriots... though distant, as if through a tunnel.

"-must somehow be protecting Ranma from something," Nabiki was sprawled on the ground, just breathing and relaxing, a cold rag pressed to the side of her face to soothe the stinging wounds.

Happosai had found his pipe, and was contentedly puffing away on it. He exhaled a long, smoky breath. "Would seem that this dark beastie has decided to focus it's attention on Ranma, whereas before it was trying to work on everyone around him. Probably to convince them there was nothing to do, and no way to help."

"Bollocks to that, as the Brits say," Daisuke is attaching small electrodes to different key chakra points along Ranma's body, asking periodically for one of the women to put them in more compromising places. "There's always something that can be done to help," the young Nakano boy puts on a weird set of headphones with large, bulky earpieces that seem custom made. He taps on one of them a couple of times, "Ami, Ami, can you hear me?"

Happosai takes another long drag from his pipe as he watches Ranma, Nabiki setting the small black piglet onto her stomach as she seems to ease a bit. "Seems it'd be a bad idea to separate Ranma from the Hibiki-boy, whatever that Ryouga is doing must be helping somehow."

Memeko sighs, rubbing her ears. Thankful that she wasn't completely deaf from all the screaming that Ranma had done. She rises, going to kneel over the injured girls. "Do you need some help, Doctor?"

The Doctor hardly acknowledges her, his focus seeming to be entirely upon Kasumi. "Kasumi's injured. It's my fault, I shouldn't have asked her to do it. Oh, Kasumi... I'm sorry, I'm such a fool!"

Kasumi offered the best smile she could, "Tofu-san, I will be fine, please see to Auntie Nodoka and Miss Akari," She lifts a hand meakly, gesturing to the other girls who seem more in need of immediate medical attention. "You're right Kasumi, I should have been more careful, should have found some other way to help! I'll remember next time. I'll remember to keep you out of harm's way!" He didn't seem to be paying much attention to what she was saying.

Kasumi sighs heavily, her expression wilting slightly, "Oh Tofu-san... some times are not good times to be so silly about me."

Memeko wrapped Tofu hard on the head, "Oi, Medical Professional. You should probably see about the negative ki-tainted young teen girl who is going through shock. Kasumi will be fine, I'll look after her myself."

"M-M-Memeko? When did you get here?" He queries, adjusting his broken glasses.

She grabbed him by his lapel and exerted her ki over the doctor's, "Nevermind when, Get over to that Akari girl... I guess.. and help her; NOW mister!" She watches as Tofuu nods dumbly and moves, like some sort of mechanical puppet, over to Akarii. He stares for a moment, wondering what he was up to before he tenses, noticing the danger Akari was in as he starts to dig in his bag for some appropriate utensils.

"Thank you, Mimi-chan," She feels Kasumi's hand twine into her own. Turning to look back at the girl she'd gone to school with, she smiles as she sees that same girl looking back at her.

"Anytime, Sumi-chan," Her tone was tender as she squeezes Kasumi's hand, watching her try not to wince. "You don't have to be tough around me, Sumi-chan. I know better."

Kasumi's eyes mist as she looks at her old friend. "As clear as cellophane, aren't I?" She looks over at the mess things had become. Shampoo and Ukyou were quietly whispering to eachother.

Mousse was Standing on the back porch, arms folded in his robes, watching with some apprehension the grounds of the Tendou property. Soun and Genma were both still unconcious from the concussion of the blast.

"When did you start studying, Sumi-chan?" Her words are tender yet seeking. Kasumi's eyes are drawn back to her, a clarity there that wasn't there a moment ago.

"I've always studied... since mother died," She closes her eyes, gritting her teeth a moment to focus against the pain before she stares again into Memeko's gaze. "Someone had to pick up the pieces, Mimi-chan."

The eldest Miramoto child cups Kasumi's cheek, radiating warmth towards her dear friend. "Oh, Sumi-chan... you did good tonight. Was the Seventh Song necessary?"

Kasumi's eyes look distant, thoughtful as she speaks in a low, solemn tone. "Something is hunting Ranma's soul, and wants it more than anything. Yes, Memeko-chan. Yes."

"Someone Approaches," Mousse's voice is low, but piercing. as he shifts lightly, preparing himself for combat. Shampoo and Ukyou favor each other with a glance before nodding. Stepping out to stand beside Mousse.

Mousse watches, coiled like a snake ready to strike, as two women approach. Judging from their appearance and attire, they were both Chinese. Judging from their weaponry, they had come from Joketsuzoku. "If you have come to punish Shampoo and I for our love, Amazons, I will see you dead first." He states clearly.

"We no longer Amazons, will fight till death, so you know," Shampoo intones, falling into a battle ready stance.

_[Step aside, outcast, or we will be sure to give you the death you seek!_ The chestnut haired Amazon holds a sword level, pointed directly at Shampoo.

The pretty blond woman was dressed in a chinese silk vest and loose fitting pants, tied off with a powder blue sash. She raises her hand, resting it atop the edge of Ming-Mei's blade, "Stay your hand, Child. And Shampoo, we do not have time for this, Great-Granddaughter... where is Ranma?"

Ukyou notices that Mousse's and Shampoo's aura's flare suddenly, their faces taking on an even deadlier expression.

Shampoo blinked in shock, taking in the appearance of the girl who was barely older than herself. The golden haired girl looked so much like her great grandmother in her youth, "Great-Grandmother Cologne? You are no welcome here," Shampoo states flatly. "You no touch Ranma."

Cologne spits out a string of manadarin curses, her hands gesticulating wildly, "- Shampoo, we are here to help the damned boy. I don't know what you have all done so far, but the veil between worlds is THIN in this place. Do you realize the danger you have all put yourself in?"

"A danger that would not have likely occurred if not for your curse, Cologne. Something you've apparently been punished for," Mousse eases his stance, sensing that perhaps Cologne was being sincere.

"Perhaps I was, Mousse. That will have to be discussed later! Whatever this darkness is that wants Son-in-," She catches herself, shaking her head as she growls. Ranma would never be an amazon, not since Shampoo had chosen Mousse. "Whatever it is that wants Ranma, it has caused the seperation of things to weaken... prepare yourself, Children. This is going to be one of the hardest nights you will ever live."

"What are you babbling about, Cologne?" Ukyou is skeptical, still holding her Spatula out before her. The last time she had seen Cologne, she was filled with anger and cursing Ranma to misery. Something that, quite apparently, had come to pass. She isn't certain why Shampoo or Mousse were still trusting of the woman. Maybe it's some weird Amazon thing.

Cologne lowered her voice, standing stoically as she spoke calmly, and quietly; all the while feeling quite the opposite. Every fiber of her being screamed that preparation was needed, sooner rather than later. "Demons are coming, Child. Lured here by the dark energies that are hungering for Ranma."

Ukyou finally lowers her spatula, noticing how hard it was for Cologne to remain composed. "Demons? Is that what is doing this to Ranma honey?"

The Amazon Elder shakes her head, her blonde ponytail bobbing back and forth, "No, child. Despite the appearance, I think this is far worse. Please tell me that Ranma is still struggling against it?" There is genuine concern in her voice, a stark contrast from the angry old woman who had just months ago cursed Ranma to suffering and torment.

Ukyou exchanges glances with her two friends, she shrugs from the inquiring looks. Shaking her head, she looks again at Cologne, "Ranma Honey is- kind of unconscious. She's fighting SOMETHING that's for sure."

Cologne looked behind the three teenage martial artists, seeing the state of things as she nods solemnly. "I won't blather on about how surprising it is that anything could bring Ranma Saotome low... you have my word of honor as a martial artist that I am not here to hurt Ranma."

"Why Great-Grandmother change her mind? She so angry when last we see," Shampoo is not sure if she should trust Cologne, not certain if she was here for nefarious reasons related entirely the will of the Amazon Council of Elders.

Cologne clasped her hands together as she settles to her knees. She touches her forehead and then lowers it, touching her forehead to the snow. "My child, please forgive me. I do not know what anger clouded my senses, but that day was the most shameful day of my life... Shimitsu-Sama has bid me come to make amends for my destruction of the sacred Staff of the Joketsuzoku."

Shampoo is suddenly weak kneed, clasping the doorframe as her face takes on a shocked expression, "Shimitsu-sama?"

Ukyou watched Mousse stand rigid, his own expression carefully masked, but the tension saying that this Shimitsu person was important somehow. "Okay, I'll bite. Who is Shimitsu-sama?"

As Cologne straightens, still kneeling, all four amazons place their hands on their hearts and speak as one, "Most venerated and honourable Goddess Spirit of the Mountain."

Cologne Golden-hair turns her eyes to the young Kuonji girl. "That Shimitsu-Sama, Kuonji-Ukyou. She is a guardian dragon of the eighth circle, elemental and ancient."

Shampoo steps down delicately, taking Cologne's hands and helping her to her feet. "Shampoo... married to Mousse, Great Grandmother." She closes her eyes, "Can no take back choice. Shampoo love Mousse."

The blonde haired beauty sighs heavily, Clasping her great grand-daughters hands. "My youth is atonement for my anger... Shimitsu knows something. Feels something. The Niie Chiezu need me again as a leader... I will grant you reprieve of this choice, even though the Council will frown upon my decision."

She turns her piercing gaze to Mousse, considering him with Scrutiny, "You have taken good care of your wife, Mousse?"

Mousse only gives a nod, meeting his eyes with Cologne's in defiance instead of Deferrance.

"I'll reserve my judgment of your worthiness for less pressing times, Mousse... We all need to talk, and I have brought what I could to help in this trying time with Ranma."

Ming-Mei held her sword tightly, raising the edge towards the elder, Mousse, and Shampoo. [_Elder Khu Lon, I do not approve of your forgiving nature towards this- this betrayer of our order! I will report this transgression to the Council._

Ming-Mei could only blanch as Cologne moved faster than she could see, slapping her hard across the face.

"I make this decision for the good of the people, Ming-Mei. There is turbulence in these times, and sometimes we have to swallow our pride when it seeks to choke us. Ranma is IMPORTANT, and that has far more weight to our order than Shampoo's choice in husband. We must protect him, whatever the cost."

"Elder..." Ming-Mei mouths quietly, holding her cheek.

Cologne's expression falls as she looks very tired. "You're young, Ming-Mei. You do not feel the flow of fate as I do, do not see the patterns in the breeze. I need you to support me in this, as it will be difficult enough when the Council discovers my decision."

The young Amazon felt conflicted. She had been browbeaten enough by the elder council that she knew that forgiving Shampoo's betrayal of Clan honor as a greater betrayal... but elder Cologne had always spoken wisdom to power, in all the years that she had held the Council together. Were it not for Cologne, the Amazons might have been swept aside by the flow of history. "Ming-Mei... not know which choice is right."

"Then think, and decide Later. We must first see what we can do for Ranma, then prepare..."

Cologne looked into the eyes of those around her, searching for another objection to her assistance. She found nothing resolute.

"Then we must prepare for battle."


	24. Those Who Wander

Ryouga falls through the void; no wind stirs his clothes, there is no air to buffet his ears. There is only the stark weightless panic of feeling his stomach lofted by the rapid velocity of his fall. A voiceless, shiftless expanse seems to wrap around him; small points of iridescent pastels flitting distantly across his periphery.

His arms twirl as he thrashes his legs without much reward for his effort, only seeming to cause him to pirouette in midair and glide into a dizzying top over bottom spin. "Raaanma!" he calls out, a thousand reflective Ryouga's seeming to echo back; though not all at once. "Raaanma, where in hell are you?!" The displaced Hibiki cries out, half expectant that the clown running this zoo would chirp in with his old witty repertoire.

A brighter expanse of shifting pastels catches young Hibiki's attention, and with frantic flapping of his arms and legs he manages to steady himself mid-void and observe this point of interest; a large bubble seeming to be falling at the same velocity towards Ryouga, its skein flashing both imaginable and unimaginable kaleidoscopes of color and light.

"Dammit, not this again!" he twists, and begins pitching his arms and legs in a swimming motion; the lack of substance providing him no movement as he feels himself sink into the surface of the bubble. It stretches like cellophane for a moment as Ryouga cries out, "Damn you, Raaan-" And then, the surface breaks.

"-Maaa!" Hibiki finishes, hovering briefly in mid air as he looks up through a canopy of trees at a cerulean sky. "Aaah!" he vocalizes as gravity takes hold and Ryouga finds himself colliding with the ground. He growls as his hands claw at the firm soil he has landed in, bits of grass cling to his face as he lifts it, crawling to his knees before mopping the green sprigs from his brow, "No, Ryouga... it's never easy for you when you're trying to help Ranma. Hell, anything you ever do involving Ranma always ends in disaster!"

He casts his eyes around his surroundings, "Where the hell am I now? Looks like a forest," the sun is bright, the sky a deepened lacquer of azure and purple; vibrant beyond memory. Ryouga growls as he dusts off his gi and pants, flitting bits of grit and grass falling from his attire. "Oh, Ranma... can't just marry Akane, has to fall for a guy. No, can't make it simple, has to have some demon trying to devour his soul because he's angsting up all of Japan," Ryouga sighs.

He recalls seeing Ranma in his arms, a fragile, broken figure of epically tragic proportions, adding weight to his heart for a moment. He rubs his hands roughly through his hair as he growls, "Aaaah, dammit, I'm trying to help! Where the hell are-"

His words catch in his throat as his eyes take note of the three figures dressed in concealing apparel. Judging by their funny hats and accompanying swords (One of which was drawn), as well as the accompaniment of pistols at two of the men's hips, he figured he'd just stepped into an Alexander Dumas Novel. "Swashbucklers... just great." He wonders what they might be up to, pressed up against trees by the roadside before he detects a faint noise in the distance.

Ryouga's ears perk as they pick up the approaching pound of hooves, his head turns to the road as a coach rounded the bend. Putting two and two together and getting four this time, he begins to stomp threateningly towards the one who seemed to be in charge, "Hey, wait a second, if you think I'm just going to stand here while you guys rob someone, you've got another thing-" Ryouga sweeps his feet to trip the man, before catching himself as his leg passes right through the man. He growled louder with frustration, "You've gotta be kidding me!" Sweeping his arms in striking motions at the man's head to no avail, he kicks at the dirt, watching as the other two men step out into the path of the approaching carriage.

The sound of a pistol suddenly rings through the air, causing the horses to rear and slowly halt in front of the two men. They look at each other with a grin and quickly draw their swords as the third figure, a gentleman whose meticulous manner of dress revealed him as the leader of the roguish entourage, joined them.

The Coachmen begins to reach for his own pistol before a second shot aimed at his pistol rings out, dissuading the coachmen to try anything foolish, "It would be in one's best interest to forgo any disjointed sense of bravado, dear friend. We after all, only want the money of those in your stead," The bandit leader quipped with a cocky grin.

In response, the Coachmen raises his arms, speaking fluent French, _"This will not stand, the Lady Mirabeau's brother will see that you are hung."_

"Whatever Frenchy thing you may've been saying, I'm certain it was quite noble and or compelling," The leader of the three moves towards the door of the coach as his compatriots keep their eye on the coachmen.

Ryouga watches as the door for the coach springs open and an older man jumps out, dressed in finer clothes than the bandits and brandishing a rapier with a very elaborate hand-guard, "You'll forgive, _Monsieur_, if we take umbrage at your intentions."

The leader of the three brings his sword up to block as the gentleman thrusts, batting his sword away, "I wouldn't like it any other way," Their swords shift and flash in the rays of light diffusing through the branches, the cloak of the bandit leader fluttering as his feet perform an intricate dance, partnered by the elder man from the coach.

"This shouldn't be long," One of the accompanying bandits chimed in to his compatriot, "There's just one- Oh, here comes another." A larger man climbs out of the carriage, bulky and stalwart and dressed in an English nobles attire.

As if instinctively discerning that the fight was being joined yet again, the bandit leader parries and unsheathes a main gauche, blocking the second man's attack. The man moves with inhuman precision and skill, his hands seeking the proper places with each blow attempted by his aggressors. The gentleman bandit rolls across the back of one of the men, causing the other to stab his ally in the rear and eliciting a howl as the latter man continues to press the attack; but now with a bit of a limp.

It becomes obvious quickly to Ryouga that the thief is toying with the other two, and shortly after the other men realize it, he disarms both with but a flick of his wrist. "Now, mates... men have to eat, and the poor are less fortunate than we." As he speaks, he gestures for them to get to their knees with the ends of his blades, the larger man sneering in distaste as he drops to the ground in compliance.

The thief favors both with his eyes as he speaks calmly and clearly, as if he were not fighting just moments before and had not even broken a sweat. "So, if you'd kindly inform either myself or my supportive friends over there where the box might be in the carriage, I'll let you and your lady friend-"

Ryouga catches from the corner of his eye, a quick movement from the carriage, as a woman in immaculately beautiful finery moves quickly from the carriage, her feet bare on the cobble and her hand brandishing a knife. His heart jumps a bit at how quickly she moves across to the thief, her golden hair fluttering in the wind before one of the accompanying thieves cry out.

"SIR, Behind you!"

The bandit leader spins in surprise, his swords flashing out in preparation instinctively, the end of his rapier finding a home in the breast of the beautiful young lady with the piercing blue eyes. She gasps a moment, coughing as blood colors her lips.

The leader stares horrified as he withdraws the blade and the woman collapses like a marionette without a puppeteer. "No..." He mumbles to himself, his face pale and aghast. He throws aside his weapons and flies to her side, taking her in his arms, "No, no no!"

He is transfixed by those eyes, staring at him in confusion and accusation. They seem to look through his soul, those eyes the color of the deepest sky. He feels tears coming to his own, unbidden.

"R-ranma?" Ryouga's voice is low, unsure as he stares at the golden haired woman. Then the man looks up at Ryouga for a moment with a confused expression... something in his eyes distant but familiar. Then Ryouga visibly flinches as one of the gentleman, having retrieved their weapon, sinks it through the bandit leader's chest.

He looks down at the blade protruding from his chest for a moment, then back at the woman in his arms, "These eyes I've never seen before- th-the last I'll ever see..." his words taking on a wet sound as blood fills his lungs. He stares at those eyes as he folds sideways.

Everything seems to fade to a grey color, Ryouga looking in sadness at the two people who'd never met before. "What does it all mean, Kami-sama."

"You are familiar," The voice rings in Ryouga's ears as he looks up, and at Ranma. Only, it isn't Ranma. It looks so much like her that it was frightening, but there is a strange absence of recognition in her eyes.

Ryouga steps forward, moving around the dead figures in the dream as he reaches his hands out in a placating gesture, "Ranma, I've come to help you get home. Akane and the rest are waiting."

"Akane?" She says in a wistful, half-asleep manner, "I remember a dream with that name, once," The confusion is thick in her voice, as if she herself wasn't certain what was real. She blinks, her eyes taking on a brief clarity for a moment.

"Ryouga?" She intones, reaching a hand out towards the lost boy before Reality seems to tear between the two of them, as if the scenery around them was suddenly torn in half; Ryouga on one side, Ranma on the other as the halves fall away from each other.

Ryouga runs to the edge of the dream reality and jumps for Ranma, "Ranma, Ranma!" He feels himself falling through that darkness again, Ranma falling away from him as if she was standing in a large window, "Ranmaaa!" He howls with his arm outstretched, seeing a vast seething darkness trying to devour the dream. A bright star seems to spin from that window in the distance, downward and past Ryouga.

The young Hibiki draws his sleeve across his eyes, wiping away fresh tears as he sets his jaw, "I'm coming, Ranma." His mind is set as well; he knows now what he must do.

He dives, aiming for the next moment in time, the next recollection of tragedy.

And as he pierces the surface of the dream, he curls himself into a ball, rolling as he meets the ground before springing up, running. "Ranma!" He thrusts himself out of the woods and onto a road; suddenly two vehicles straight out of the fifties almost collide, one swerving and aiming directly at Ryouga, he puts his shoulders forward and runs through the vehicle; his body as intangible as a ghost. He sees two faces, and somewhere inside of him, he knows them to be the souls of Akane and Hiroshi; both male, the panic in their eyes breathtaking.

He launches himself off of the cliff, soaring through the air as he follows the car which must hold Ranma through the broken barrier on the curb, "Always so close and yet so far, Ranma."

Then he sees the edge of the dream again, falling through it as he casts his eyes around, looking for the next point of light as it blazes off beneath him, plunging further. He swivels in the void and pumps his legs, swimming towards the dream with resolute intent.

And he runs. Hibiki Ryouga feels a direction, a purpose as he has never felt before. There is a certainty inside of him, an awareness of where he is going... a direction in his mind that he has never felt before; he is not lost, he is on a journey and he knows the destination as surely as the sun will rise.

He Runs, his eyes open as he pursues the elusive fragments of a shattered spirit as they flee the coming darkness, ever looming behind him; Searching for he, too, in its hunger.

Dreams flash by, caught in Ryouga's awareness as he feels like a compass towards the presence of Ranma's soul. The black plague, Ranma is a small girl left in an alley, Hiroshi is the crippled old man that finds her moments before her death. He wanders with the slight girl in his arms as her life ebbs, calling out for help.

The Renaissance, Ranma and Hiroshi are from different rival colleges, communicating only by letters; Hiroshi is taken by consumption before he graduates.

In ancient Rome, Hiroshi is a centurion charged with disposing of Ranma's body. In later Rome, Ranma nurses a married Hiroshi back to health, their stations forbidding any further contact until the night Rome burns. Always something, somewhere, somehow.

And in just as many, Ranma is wed to Akane. Ranma and Akane live out full lives, while Ranma never meets Hiroshi. In still others, Ranma and Hiroshi are fast friends, an unspoken bond between the two of them even as they live their separate lives. The ages seem to stretch through these moments, for Ryouga they are but flashes in his mind; brief and without substance, the echoes of a past. A river of the self.

Sometimes Ranma is engaged to another, sometimes Hiroshi. Often times Ryouga recognizes others through their eyes, familiar souls he'd seen in his current life.

Through it all, he runs. He has no breath in this place, his body only an imagining of his soul. He does not tire, and his soul bends only to the purpose he sought out when he took Ranma in his arms and challenged that demon; finding him. Bringing him back. "I will not fail. Not this time."

He throws himself against the walls of each dream as it fades to grey, Ranma's soul flitting ever onwards into the deepest spirals of the dreamtime; Losing itself, losing its memories in the journey. In this place, where time and death mean nothing, Ryouga Hibiki finds he feels a shortening of Ranma's time with every passing moment. His cursed spirit, passed down throughout many generations of Hibiki, feels drawn like a moth to the flame. He is as an arrow loosed by a Zen archer, undeniable and with unerring direction.

He finds all of the strange points of light converging as he falls towards the center, bracing his arms in front of him energy seems to crackle and dance along his skin, shades of lightning whose colors are indescribable to the waking mind. "I will not give up!" Ryouga howls, his brow down and his eyes narrowed in an expression that conveyed his tenacity. With a thunderous boom that reverberated across the depths of the dark abyss, Ryouga Hibiki broke the skein and passed through.

Stumbling briefly, he drops to his knees and hands, feeling a strange rhythmic pulsing seeming to permeate his being and down through his body into the ground. It is moments before he realizes that it is the breath of this place. There is a heartbeat of this moment, as if it was the innermost thread of Ranma Saotome's life; where beginnings and endings occurred. He stands, brushing the fine grains of dust off that his hands had gathered by rubbing them against his hips. He sees round, mountainous hills that seemed to touch the sky, vivid wisps of motley fog seeming to haze by them. He walks up along one of the hills; a winding path that tugged at his own memories somehow.

"Have I- Been here before?" His voice rings out, echoing amidst some vast silence. Only the wind in this place had a chilling way of teasing at his ear as if there were a melody upon it; something of melancholy and sadness.

He casts his eyes skywards, looking for birds and finding none. There is a blood red color to the clouds, ominous and unsettling, and they roil visibly as if they cannot rest in this place. He crests the top of a ridge overlooking a valley, and he is brought up short; what imaginary breath he has completely stolen from him as he blinks briefly, then his eyes widen in realization and horror.

The blood red clouds above rain crimson upon the vision he looks out over; There are brief flashes of light with a sound of distant, rolling thunder.

His mind is clouded as he feels a stark terror, standing on the precipice of a cliff overlooking a place so familiar to his nightmares, and yet absolutely different in every way; The lay of the land, the stolid and looming hills - all of it unchanged in whatever eons that passed between this timeless moment and his own world.

"Jusenkyou," He mouths in terrible awe.

It isn't the familiarity that freezes him. It is not the vision of where it all seemed to begin for he and Ranma, where everything changed on one fateful day. No, this is not what paralyzes Ryouga Hibiki.

He stares out at the valley of Jusenkyou, seeing pools of blood staining the landscape; a thousand human figures impaled upon the many bamboo chutes growing from the ground, their blood co-mingling in the soil in large puddles.

Every figure's immaculate, pristine wings flutter in the mournful wind. The wings shed feathers; their bearer's death seeming days in the past as the white plumes fly about like a cloud of white light, glowing brightly even in the blood-red haze the sky reflects upon the grounds.

Ryouga is numb, his feet falling out from underneath him as his eyes fill with tears at the sight, unbidden and uncontrollable as he looks out at the field of slaughtered angels. "A very tragic story..." He chokes out, clenching his eyes shut as his fingers claw at the ground. He shakes visibly, hunched over as he is before he lets out an anguished howl, tears dripping from his cheeks and chin as he clenches his fists and beats at the soil beneath him in rage and anger; an anguish coming over him as he forces his eyes open to look again upon the scenes that must have birthed that cursed place.

"What does it all mean, dammit? Why... why here, why somewhere in his memories," He struggles to control the shaking, holding his head against the ground. "Does it all lead back to Jusenkyou? Everything?"

It seems like ages before he can move again. He pulls himself upright, wiping his forearm against his eyes as he looks out at the scene, hearing that faint melody of sorrow hanging on the wind. It was more audible in this time, in this place, in this dream. It was a half-nagging sentiment near the back of his mind when he first came to this place, a pervading sense of tragedy and lament which had faded over countless millennia into background noise of the soul.

He jumps down from the cliff, feeling the airs of Jusenkyou flow around him; taking in a strange scent of familiarity. He clutched at his chest as he fought to keep from breaking down again; the scent of the blood seemed to summon up the most gentle and carefree memories from his whole life and pervade them with a sense of sorrowful longing that these things could never be again. It was almost crippling in its potency.

He shakes his head, opening his eyes as he moves forward. From seemingly nowhere, a looming shadow materializes from the center of Jusenkyou, expanding outwards as it takes on shape and form, a grim and dark spire seeming to stab at the sky. The jagged appearance of it summoned up the image of a rip in reality; a hole in the way things are. It is a ragged knife that haunts Ryouga's subconscious; a primal familiarity seemingly ingrained in him that causes him instead to take a step back at the sight.

"It is only an image in a dream in Ranma's mind," He assures himself, not certain he has convinced himself of that truth; especially in consideration of the uneven tone in his words. He starts to walk to the jutting hole in existence, a tower of indefinable depth of darkness. He feels himself growing thin, strength seeming to leech out of him like a sponge as he passes through this place. The anguish and sorrow drags him down, the subtle melody building to a cacophonous symphony.

He drops to his knees, shaking his head as he pants, feeling heavy and tired and so very weary of it all. "No, I will not give in. I will not fail Ranma, not this time."

"Why are you fighting so hard, Ryouga?" The voice is deceptively familiar, but there is an edge to it that does not belong. Ranma stands before Ryouga, arms cockily crossed in front of him as he looks down at the young Hibiki boy.

Ryouga shakes his head violently a few times, looking up at Ranma as he forces himself to his feet, "You're not Ranma." He states, feeling to the core of his being that it was true. This certainty inside of him was new, exhilarating... giving him the will to stay standing.

"Oh, C'mon Ryouga. Seriously, man, I knocked you into a Jusenkyou pool. I stole the girl you like, make fun of you all the time. It was my fault you got cursed, and there's nothing I've done to help you out in the least," It sounded so very much like Ranma, but Ranma wouldn't say these things.

Ryouga swiped an arm at the figure, watching it dodge nimbly to one side; just as Ranma would do. "You... are not Ranma."

The visage gave Ryouga a flat expression, "Maybe I am and maybe I'm not, how would you know, pork for brains?" It pulls it's bottom eyelid downwards, sticking it's tongue out.

"Sh-shutup!" Ryouga breathes heavily with more vindication, focusing his energy on his martial arts training, but feeling so tired and willing to give up. He pushes the futility aside and launches himself at the figure, who seems to flow just as Ranma does, to the side as Ryouga's punch collides with the ground, causing a spray of rock and blood to fly in all directions.

The figure kicked at Ryouga's legs, knocking him to the ground effortlessly. "Why bother saving me, Ryouga? You think it'll look good to Akane? You think she hasn't already figured out you're her weedle P-chan?"

Ryouga gritted his teeth, trying to lift himself. The ground seemed so very heavy, as if it was pulling him towards it and wanted to swallow him. "It-It doesn't- Doesn't matter!" He manages to get to his knees before the figure kicks him in his face.

The figure continued speaking in Ranma's voice, a thick sarcastic tone which taunted Ryouga and pulled at his memories of the young Saotome, "Oh c'mon, ya porker. You hate Ranma Saotome. You've done nothing but try to get one over on him since Junior High. He's not your friend, he's your enemy. He's made your life miserable."

Ryouga's body tensed, a growl growing in his throat as his fists clawed at the dirt, grabbing large hand fulls of rock and soil in his palms before he breathes out hard. He stares at the ground as he feels tears again leaving his eyes. He doesn't feel sad though, he feels... less heavy.

The Ranma-thing seemed to take offense at his stationary status, "You just gonna lay there, lazy pig? C'mon, get up. Fight back."

"No," Ryouga stood, his heart aching as his mind began to clear from the haze of this place of sorrow. "No, I won't."

"Okay, then I will!" the false Ranma flies at blinding speed at Ryouga, a leg snapping out in a soccer kick and catching Ryouga square in the chest. The force of the impact seems to tear through Ryouga's chest as he feels the wind fluttering through his clothes.

Ryouga collides against one of the many hills surrounding the pools with a deafening boom, followed thereafter by the crashing noise as the hill collapsed on top of Ryouga Hibiki.

"C'mon, Ryouga. You know I outclass you in everything. Why else would people be throwing themselves at me while a jerk like you gets to wander around lonely and aimless?" The false-Ranma rested hands on his hips, leaning in a leisurely manner as a pile of rock and debris from the collapse explodes outwards.

Ryouga pulls himself from the collapsed remnants of the hill, coughing momentarily before wiping the back of his hand against his mouth and finding a bit of blood there. "Ranma wouldn't have ever used such a cheap shot."

"Oh really, P-chan? What about dressing up as your sister? Your girlfriend? Messing with you time and time again, making fun of your useless self?" Ranma's tone was vitriolic as he launched himself at the young Hibiki, then a flashing of fists as the Amaguriken blazes through Ryouga's defenses.

Ryouga struggles to block the attacks, feeling the sting of each blow more acutely than he ever has before. "Nngh- and- and I didn't try and ruin his dates with Akane? I didn't hit him with a magical fishing rod by accident? You make it seem like everything that's wrong in my life was Ranma's fault."

He has difficulty saying the words; words he had thought of deeply for the past several weeks. Words he doesn't want to confess to anyone, his secret shames and guilt.

Ranma makes broader, more sweeping strikes against Ryouga's vital spots and head, solid blows thudding audibly, "Gods, Ryouga. Don't make me sick, as if you ever cared about anyone but yourself. You're just here to impress Akane, who'll probably serve you teriyaki style for your piggy perversity."

The Ranma-thing grabs Ryouga in one hand and carries the force through, causing an impact crater on the ground as he drives the young Hibiki-boy into the earth.

Ryouga's head swims with pain and a deep desire to just lay down, so much sorrow and suffering in his life; would it be so bad to end it here? To just give up and let his miserable existence end. At least he would know he had gone out with some nobility still in tact.

"M-Maybe I deserve it all," Ryouga choked out, his eyes stinging; he didn't want to die here. "Maybe everyone was right about me all along."

He should let this thing take care of him, just make the sacrifice. Save some face, give up, accept defeat.

It is just that Ryouga Hibiki has never felt inclined to giving up, even in the face of stupendous odds. Likewise, he picks himself up, his body aching and feeling as meek as a newborn kitten.

He turns, opening his arms and exposing himself to attack; Inviting his opponent to strike him. He'd had the beating coming for a long time, and whether this was some sort of projection of Ranma's distrust of him or some other creature, it isn't like he didn't deserve it.

The pig-tailed martial artist takes advantage of the opening, launching a kick directly at Ryouga's midriff, "Man, your head really IS full of rocks, isn't it, Pig-boy?"

Ryouga closes his eyes, expecting more pain; surprised as he feels the kick connect but without much force. The lost-boy's eyes snap open; a look of realization dawns within them.

Ranma is a blur of fists and feet flying in a whirlwind of motion. Ryouga steps back, moving aside from his environment as he found some kind of center within him. Flowing just as Ranma moved, seeming to meet kicks and punches without thinking about it; Shibumi.

"Fight back, you jackass! Are you happy you'll be a pig for the rest of your life? You must love that you've gotta settle for Akarii, she isn't half the woman Akane is!" There was a red glow in the Ranma figures eyes as he pressed the attack, a ferocity that hinted at desperation.

Ryouga laughs lightly, his heart aching even more, "You're right. I still want Akane, I have always wanted to take her away from you."

The Ranma figure seems to lose it's cool, starting to press harder and more risky attacks as Ryouga begins to fully dodge and jump aside. "Shut up and fight, Pig boy!"

Ryouga clenches his palm and strikes the Ranma-thing in the chest, knocking it fifty feet back, a cloud of dust pluming up from the impact. He relaxes from horse stance, looking at his fist as he clenches and unclenches it. "It isn't even that I loved her... it's that I wanted her for myself. It's that I wanted to take her away from you, that I wanted what was yours to be mine."

His heart continued to ache as he walked towards the figure, watching it cough and pull itself out of the dust, dropping into a snake-form stance, "It was never your fault, Ranma. It was not your fault that I went to Jusenkyou, it was my fate. It was what I had decided to do, and every choice has a consequence."

The hands struck out with anger, the martial arts form bad, mistakes Ranma would never make. Ryouga's arms simply blocked the attacks, turning them aside as he continued walking towards the figure, even as it retreated step by step, "S-stay away, dammit! You hate Ranma, you don't deserve pity! You selfish pig, you arrogant piece of trash!"

Ryouga halted, closing his eyes as he held a hand to his chest. "All my life, Ranma. All of my life I've thought only of what was good for me, what I wanted; and damn anyone else. It was never my fault that I was cursed with a poor sense of direction, it was everyone else's fault for being gifted with the common sense to know where they were going."

The false-Ranma screamed and started wailing punches on Ryouga's chest and abdomen... the force of them seemed no more potent than the brushes of feathers on the wind.  
"Shutup, ShutUP, SHUT UP, SHUTUP!" the mimic shouted.

Ryouga catches one of the fists in his hand as it struck, squeezing slowly and methodically as the Ranma figure clutches at its arm; the bones creak and begin to pop. "I am done recusing myself of responsibility. I'm a coward, and I always have been. But not anymore, not today. Today I am Hibiki Ryouga. Today, I am unchained. Today, I am going to take the real Ranma and I am going to bring him back to the people that love him."

Even through the pain it seeks to taunt him, using his fears, "You-you can't! You're weak, you're selfish, you don't care!"

"I can... and I do care," Ryouga pauses a long moment, looking into the hellish red eyes of the creature before him. "Because I love Ranma too. He is my closest friend, and he has done more for me than anyone else in my life," Ryouga broke the things hand as he closed his fist completely, "And he deserves your goddamn respect, Demon."

The creature, a shadowy black thing howls in pain as its claw-like appendage is crushed by Ryouga Hibiki. It gurgles a bit as Ryouga kicks it in the throat. "I hope I remain cursed, I deserved it for so long. I deserved to be a pig, it reflects my selfishness so well. I deserve to keep it until I've paid my penance for all the things I've done."

The black thing pulls itself with its un-crushed hand, trying to escape the calm, centered Ryouga.

Ryouga plants a foot on the things back, and then pressed down with all the force of his will, hearing the satisfying and sickening snapping of vertebrae. "I will not hide from myself anymore."

The shadowy black thing disintegrates into a mass of feathery white down, floating on the wind up and around Ryouga. He closes his eyes and tilts his head upwards, feeling the weight of his acceptance, the hurting of his heart as he comes to realize that every choice in his life was his own doing and nobody else's. Acceptance of self is a heavy burden to bear.

Ryouga opens his eyes again, staring sidelong at the black spire. Turning, he begins walking resolutely towards it as the feathers of dying angels flow around him.


	25. A Storm in Five Parts

Daisuke studiously watches the LCD monitor that has been slap-dash wired to the Chaometer. "I hadn't thought about the fact that my tinker toy could've had practical usages," His finger clacks on the keys of the chaometer. "It only occurred to me after I spoke with AMI that it might actually be able to monitor both brain waves and chakra flow, and could possibly give us an indicator of what is going on inside. Through a combination of EEG and MRI style technology, as well as some of the on the fly dynamic node-based peer sharing technology to come out quite recently, macguyver'd together should provide a baseline for getting something of a live feed as to what is going on in Ranma's skull meat."

Ukyou and Shampoo share a slightly bemused expression before turning their eyes back to Cologne and Happosai.

The Amazon Elder gives a curt nod as she takes in what the techno-babbling teen was expounding upon, "Happi-kun, who is this boy if I can ask?"

Happosai srokes his chin in thought, looking at the makeshift body monitor and nodding as if he has a clue what the data means. "Beats me. Some friend of that Hiroshi fella, I think."

"Nakano Daisuke, Age 17. President of the Nerima Robotics Club, Chess Master, and Prime Intellect of Japan," Daisuke recites, hand to his heart.

Memeko heaves out a breath in exasperation, looking up at the ceiling, "Daisuke-kun is the only member of the Robotics club, and the rest is his imag-"

Daisuke growls, "Hey! I want fancy titles too!" His face takes on a dour expression as he jabs an accusing finger around the room at each individual, "All of you martial artists have cool titles and kickin' names for chop suey maneuvers."

Everyone exchanges looks, a brief moment of humor passing between them before Cologne clears her throat, "I won't point out all the things wrong with that sentence. You said this will monitor Son-in- I mean Ranma?"

Daisuke holds a finger up, a self-impressed and puffed up expression plastered on his face, "And Ryouga... then it will algorithmically parse the data into a visual format presented on this screen. Some of it is reverse engineered, ala my beautiful magician's assistant, the lovely A.M.I.; whom I am patched through wirelessly currently using these snazzy wireless headphones," He tapped the top of the LCD with the back of his knuckle, then leaned behind it, finishing the wiring, "All I need now is an ethernet jack."

Kasumi leans heavily on the door-frame to the back yard, "I'm sorry, Daisuke-kun, but what is an- what was it you said?" she turns to consider Nodoka, who shakes her head with as much clue-lessness as everyone else in the room.

"An ethernet Jack, an ethernet jack! The internet, people! Computers! The World Wide Web!" Daisuke thrashes about as he speaks, making a sour face from the vacant expressions of his compatriots.

Happosai and Cologne nod sagaciously before Happosai pipes in with hearty agreement, "Right, the internet m'boy."

"What is an internet?" Cologne inquires in an altogether too serious tone.

Happosai considers for a moment Cologne's question, then nods in an approving manner, "Yes, what I was wondering."

Daisuke gives a dejected, wibbly expression at Happosai and Cologne, "There's a word for your kind on USENET."

The irreverent Nabiki Tendou clears her throat, wincing as her side aches from the attention-getting sentiment, "You said an ETHERNET cable, Daisuke?"

Daisuke rubs his head as he grunts his frustration, "No, I said an ethernet JACK, There's a difference, see where it relates to electronic appliances-"

Nabiki reaches a delicate hand out and grabs Daisuke by the scruff of his neck, shaking firmly to shut the boy genius up, "Don't be an obtuse jackass, Nakano. I've got an ETHERNET setup upstairs, patched in through a T-1. Excuse me for using the wrong terminology."

Daisuke blinks twice in surprise, turning to face Nabiki Tendou, "You have a T-1? Why would you have an internet setup?"

Nabiki's eyes close, her teeth clenching as she keeps struggles to keep her patience, "Because I like to keep up on business trends. I've got to say since the phenomenal flop that most internet businesses went through last year that I was half tempted to cancel my connection, luckily for us, I didn't."

Daisuke straightens, his eyes glimmering with a newfound appreciation for the middle Tendou girl. Turning and looking back at the setup, he put a hand to his chin, "Well, it's certainly less than what I'm used to, but I guess a T-1 will have to do."

"Less than what you're-!" Nabiki's fingers twitch, wanting to dart out like ten venomous snakes and put the boy genius out of her misery. The only thing staying her hands was the debate on whether she should strangle the boy for the affront; did he have any idea how much she paid for that connection?

Daisuke shrugs his shoulders, giving a distant yet thoughtful expression as he idly adjusts a few knobs on the arcane device wired to Ranma's head, "Well, yeah. With efficient compression technologies based in quantum mechanics, you can eke out more than a few hundred terabits per second if you know what you're doing... but there's a big HEAT problem with transferring that much-" He pauses, turning to look at everyone, an incredulous expression plastered on his face, "Wait, you're just going to let me talk? That's really a bad plan."

"It's been a long night, Daisuke. Some might consider a bit of irreverence a reprieve, I think," Ukyou exhales, sliding to the ground aside the prone red-head. Taking up one of her icy hands, she twines her own fingers between the petite girls; ignoring the unsettling sensation of deep and abiding revulsion that washes over her. "I'm here, Ranchan. None of us are going to let you die, not one."

"Damn skippy, Captain Ucchan," Daisuke closes his eyes, his lips turning up in a cocky smile that would make Ranma proud as he puts a few fingers on the left dial of his headphones, "AMI, you there? Okay, we're working on T-1 capabilities. Oh? Well that's good," He pauses as Nabiki gives a searching look, "Algorithm should help a bit with speed issues, though I'd probably guess it might be a choppy show. Lieutenant Tendou!" He tosses the end of one cable to Nabiki, "Your mission is to go and connect this cable directly to your output box, that means disconnect your PC; we'll need all the bandwidth we can get!"

Nabiki tilts her head slightly to one side, narrowing her eyes, "I'm not in the military, but aye aye private Daisuke," She gives a half-hearted salute to the raven haired boy before turning and heading upstairs to her room, thankfully on the opposite side of the explosion that tore a chunk out of the house.

"Hey, I'm the one giving ranks here! And that's General!" He calls after her, shaking a fist at the stairs before he turns quickly, putting his hands on his hips.

Ukyou considers Daisuke, hand holding tightly to Ranma's, "It's good to see the old you again, Daisuke."

"Yeah, screw that. It's good to FEEL like the old me. Eureka up the yin yang, Team Daisuke is blasting off! Annnd- we're online!" His grin visibly brightens, an endeavor which a moment before might have seemed nominally impossible. He jogs to the bottom of the stairs, calling up, "Thanks, Lieutenant Tendou!" Before pinwheeling his arms and leaping back over to the mess of cables, snatching up the LCD while flipping several toggle-switches on the chaometer.

Nabiki glided back down the stairs and went to stand over Ukyou, watching Daisuke.

Nodoka tenderly holds a blanket around herself, her entire body aching and bandages covering much of her body. She looks up at Kasumi, whose skin is a raw red color from the frigid layer of ice that had been encasing her earlier. She turns to look at Nabiki, who pointedly ignores her while keeping her eyes on her motionless son. She looks to the strangely intense young man fiddling with wire and switches with a passionate abundance of energy and focus, "You're all trying so hard for my son... thank you."

Daisuke shakes his head, "No thanks needed, we're not doing this for your sake, Mrs. Saotome. Frankly, in my eyes you're a wench," Daisuke concentrates on the monitor before him, apparently ignorant of his callous response, and certainly ignorant of the wince which darts across everyone's face.

"Daisuke-kun, that wasn't very nice to say," Kasumi sounds weary, vaguely disappointed but certainly unsurprised, leaning in the same doorway where Nodoka is huddled. She turns her eyes to the older woman, noticing the physical and emotional pain reflected in that gaze but hidden behind a mask of propriety.

Cologne takes in the seeming distance that everyone has put between themselves and the elder Saotome Matriarch, noting the avoidance of eye contact and the manner of their postures. The least missed detail is the small but approving smile worn by Nabiki Tendou. *Much has happened here that I do not know of.* She casts her gaze to Happosai, who merely shakes his head. *Later* his expression says to her.

Daisuke shrugs one shoulder as he pulls some wires, an electricians tool suddenly in his hand as he strips away some of the plastic before placing the tool in his mouth, twisting the wires together before reconnecting them and grabbing the tool so he can speak, "Well, I'm not a nice person. I'm a pragmatist, a scientist, and a concrete thinker. That's all besides the point, though. I couldn't do much for Hiroshi, let me do what I can for Ranma. Besides, I'm sure Mrs. Saotome has been a major contributor to the Saotome School of Angst that has put us in this position to begin with."

His words cause Saotome Nodoka to lower her head, knowing that his condemnation of her part in the matter was well placed.

Daisuke straightens, holding the LCD screen in his hand, "There we go, much clearer picture. Huh, not too bad at the frame-rate, either, AMI," Turning, he hands the screen to Ukyou.

The chef takes the 1'x1' tablet, a curious expression flitting across her face, "I see Ryouga, but who are the other people?"

Daisuke jerks his head back and forth in a negative manner, "Not sure, but I've got this hooked up to Ranma's head. If Ryouga and he are connected, this is probably a dream of his or something. Or of Ryouga's. We should have audio, AMI, where's our Audio?" And as he asks, suddenly the small tablet starts blaring out a bit of static before settling onto voices.

"K-Kasumii! Nabikii! Akanee!" Comes the wailing voice of Soun Tendou as the patriarch sits up suddenly, casting his gaze around in worry before seeing his youngest laying beside him, her eyes closed. A moment later, the headache hits him, his hands flying to his head. "Kasumi! What- What happened? Is- Is Akane-?" He dare not ask, the fear gripping his chest like a vice.

Kasumi shakes her head, offering her best smile to her father, though the skin on her face burns fiercely to her sensation. "No, Father. Akane is alright, probably weathered it better than any of us. You and Mr. Saotome suffered a concussion from-"

"Ranma!" Genma shouts as he sits bolt upright, "Ranma!" Like Tendou he casts his eyes around, locking his gaze upon his son-turned-daughter.

Nabiki turns her attention to the two fathers, "Good of you to join us Daddy, Mr. Saotome. Oh, Daddy- we're going to need to renovate Akane's room."

Memeko smiles at Nabiki's half-hearted attempt at humor. "To be more accurate, Akane needs a new room, Tendou-San."

"Hold the phone, judging by the furniture, AMI says that Ryouga looks like he's in the 18th century. Or a dream set in the 18th- oh, well now there's a new person on the scene," Daisuke notices a strange reading on the chaometer, all of the indicators at maximum. He taps a few buttons to see if he has it calibrated correctly, "The Heck- must need some more fiddling."

Cologne peered over the boys shoulder at the figure on the screen, listening to their words before she body-checked Daisuke out of the way, hands clutching at the small tablet as her eyes widen in shock, "Vintarou-ryuu," Her body shakes from the sudden adrenaline spike rushing through her. Her words take on a gravitas of religious fervor, "The gods are watching over you, Ranma. I knew it, I always knew it, but I didn't know how true that sentiment was till now."

Happosai hopped onto Cologne's shoulder, his own eyes agape at the image, "Can't be real, Cologne. He's supposed to be dead."

Daisuke rubs his shoulder where the amazon had shoved him aside, snatching the LCD from Cologne's hands, "Scuse me, sensitive equipment, step back behind the line," He glares at the two of them, making a shooing motion to get them to step back and nodding as they begrudgingly step back. "That's better," He clears his throat, looking again at the screen, "Okay, so who is this-"

"He is one of the four divine pillars of heaven. They were an order of priests sent to watch over and guide humanity by the Kami," Cologne's words are said in quiet reverence.

Happosai bounces down from Cologne's shoulder, nodding in agreement to the explanation, "Of course, old Vintarou there supposedly died over two thousand years ago."

Cologne turns a raised brow to Happosai, "How do you know what he looks like, Happi?"

Putting both hands behind his head, the master of anything goes gave a quick chortle of amusement, "Snuck in on Shimitsu-sama in the bath, saw that big painting she's got in her bed chambers."

Cologne hangs her head heavily, shaking it back and forth, "Happi, one of these days you're going to get yourself well and truly killed."

It is Nabiki's turn to clear her throat, drawing the attention of the ancient pervert and the matriarch of the Amazons, "So wait, there's some sort of divine spirit watching out for Ranma?"

Ukyou's head turns in recollection of myriad moments of seeming unbelievable coincidence. "Ranchan always did seem favored by someone with a sense of humor."

"At least in this case," A serious, grave expression colors Cologne's face. "That being said, if Vintarou-ryuu is helping Ranma, and he is still in this state... that is very bad news for all of us."

"It would mean that Ranma is important to the Heavens for something. It would also mean that whatever has induced this coma is in direct opposition to the Kami," Memeko surmises, filling in the unspoken threat hanging in the air. She meets Cologne's eyes as the Matriarch considers her.

Cologne sees a familiar spark in those eyes, yet however much she concentrates she can discern nothing from the woman's chi. It was as if she were invisible. "You're related to that boy, aren't you?"

"Miramoto Memeko. You're referring to my brother," She shifts her stance, leaning on one foot. The untrained eye would be unable to catch the slightly tensed sinews, the just-so placement of her feet.

Cologne sizes the girl up, noting that her willowy arms were deceiving in their power, that though she seems at full measure a delicate and proper japanese woman, something lurked hidden beneath and revealed only to a master's eyes. "You and your brother... are like chinese puzzleboxes."

Memeko shows no surprise as her face takes on a catty smile, "I'll take that as a compliment, Matriarch. From one of your venerable age."

Even as Memeko makes a slight bow to Cologne, A soul-chilling sensation suddenly penetrates to the bones of both women; everyone present shudders visibly.

Cologne wastes no time, she points a finger at Ukyou, "Outside, now. Same with you, Miss Miramoto... and Happi, go and tell Granddaughter to form a perimeter with Ming-Mei and her Husband."

Nodoka looks up at Kasumi, whose gaze is turned on the Saotome Matriarch with concern and worry. She looks to Cologne as Happosai bounds out the back door past her. "What is going on? What was that- that sensation just now."

Cologne pulls Genma out of his bedding by the back of his gi, pushing him towards the door, "And Soun too, anyone that can fight," She pauses as she stands above Nodoka. "Bad news, that's what it is, Child."

Ranma's mother bristled at the insinuation, who was this girl to speak to her in such a matronly tone? "I'm older than you are."

Cologne's face matches the sour expression that was plastered on Nodoka's face, muttering under her breath about punishments fitting the crimes, "It is quite a long story, but I am far older than I seem, Saotome Nodoka."

The amazon Matriarch turns, ignoring the gaping mouth preluding another question or unsavvy comment from Nodoka as she points at Daisuke, "You monitor those two, we can't afford to have them dying. Tofuu!"

The Doctor looks up from his ministrations, trying to ease the pain of the writhing, whimpering Akarii, "To the best of my ability, Cologne-san. It's a handful though, Akarii-san is not in good shape," The doctor turns his attention back to the young country girl; a cloying black ichor covers much of her lower body, its surface frigid to the touch.

Cologne's heart goes out to the young doctor, "Good boy, you do that. Bad things happen if Ranma takes a turn. Worse than what is likely taking place now. Kasumi, Nabiki, Nodoka; Help Tofuu where you can, we're about to face a two front battle."

The Matriarch doesn't wait for their assent, gliding to the door quicker than the eye can blink. She throws it open and steps outside, hyper-aware of the chill in the air and the crystalizing of her breath in the unyielding coldness. Her eyes take in those visible to her; the young woman, Memeko, Happosai to one side.

"We've got a circle set up. I made sure to tell them to use whatever Ki attacks they know," Memeko's eyes are searching, watching the shadows lengthen and deepen.

Cologne allowed herself to smile, the girl was sharp and perceptive, "Fought demons before, have you girl?"

Memeko nods, her hair bound back in a tightly wound topknot. She had discarded her dress, wearing a functional tank and shorts beneath them, "Glasgow, several years ago. Lost my husband."

"Agents?" Cologne asks, though her eyes are set upon her surroundings, tensing and relaxing her muscles to prepare them for exertion.

"Tch, something like that," Memeko thrust her hands forward, spinning and giving a few quick jabs and kicks in midair to warm herself from the flesh-piercing cold before breathing out a large cloud of icy air, palm extending forward in Tiger-stance as her other hand tightened the sash around her hips.

Cologne shifts her weight, unsheathing her chinese short sword as the steel gave a ringing sound. "An honor, then," dropping into Dragon-over-water, her body is motionless as she waits; her eyes closed to heighten her spiritual sense.

It was not long before shiftless, amorphous sharp angles seemed to rise out of the growing shadows around them, Cologne turns forwards, sword cutting smoothly through the air and into one of the shapes as it quickly closes the distance between the two of them, slicing neatly through the faceless creature as its ichor slides effortlessly from the clean blade. With backhanded waving motion, her chi deflects the smatterings of the thing's blood from meeting with her flesh.

She quickly changes the angle of her momentum, melding into a backwards turn as she performs dragon-meets-the-sun, finishing the flourish with a backflip as another figure stumbles and falls into halves, motes of its flesh drifting up as if seared. She kneels close to the ground, extending her arm in a wide-flourishing sweeping gesture from right to left; tiger-wanders-forest. She Ends it with a soft slap of her hand upon the snow-laden ground and creating an outward dusting of snow to again disperse the corrupting blood of the darklings.

She opens her eyes briefly to see the unnatural things plodding from foot to foot in a wide berth around her, no one sharing another's shape. This one has three arms on one side, that one's face is in its shoulder, another looks like some stitched together giant mantis on one side, and a bulldog's gaping maw on the other.

She brings her foot back in to the center of her stance and rises gracefully, balanced on one foot as she holds the hilt of her blade above her head; the freezing steel caressing her bosom as eight of them begin to close around her. Like a spring she seems to pop up into the air, just over the back of one and her blade gives a snicker-snack as it slides through the torso of one creature, severing a third of it before sinking halfway into the next. Cologne allows her weight to carry her downward into a corkscrew as she pulls the blade from the impaled creatures eye before continuing with her momentum in a series of precisely placed jabs that catch three more of the minor demons in their eyes. "Serpent-strikes-the-stars," She recites under her breath.

Three back away from the Matriarch; their hissing of anger a soul-shuddering sound. They undulate and shift back and forth, their shapes mingling and diffusing as more claws came out, Lunging at the persistent woman impeding their path.

Cologne leans left, and right, hopping lightly as one lunges for her legs with it's claws. Her foot lands atop one of the darkling's arms briefly before she pins another arm to the ground with her sword, tumbling forward over the hilt as she reaches into her cheongsam with her free hand and snaps her wrist out, driving a small throwing knife into the chest of the creature looming over her with four arms as she drops into a kneeling position; Mantis-bows.

Sensing movement behind her, Cologne places her palm against the ground and pivots to a crouching position, letting the haft of her blade slide so that the edge parallels her arm she springs forward at the single-eyed, amorphous tentacle creature of shadow, her blade dancing as appendages become cleft in twain. She holds two fingers in front of her chest, her breathing controlled as her yellow hair seems to flit and rise from a heat surrounding her. The heat seems to dissipate the droplets of demonic blood that spatter and spray around her.

Suddenly, one of the tentacled extensions grazed her fingers with razor sharp protrusions from the rubbery skin, simultaneously clasping at the end of her blade as it pulled. Cologne's eyes narrowed as she ducked, her own sword flying from her hand over her head and whispering through several strands of hair. Then she felt a deadening thump against her chest as she found herself thrown back, one of the rubbery stumps having collided with her chest.

Cursing, she reaches down for the wriggling spines lodged in her right breast and pulls them out, her chi incinerating the bony bits of detritus. Wiping the back of her hand against her lips, she bends left-wise as a demon with sickles for arms tries to sever her head from her neck, though the edge sears through her jawline as she stumbles sideways. Her left hand flies to her neck, feeling the hot blood there as the world seems to begin pulsing a grey-blue color. Her mouth fills with tang as she straightens and extends a hand, "Mokou Takabisha." She says in a wet, gurgling voice.

And just as that, the ground seems to crack below her and explode upwards, then directly towards the demon whose edged arms have nicked her. A brilliantly phosphorescent beam blasted forth from her extended hand. Its light engulfs the sickle-armed monstrousity, and with a muffled groaning noise, it quietly implodes. Cologne stumbles forward, her mouth opening as more blood spills out, the sound of her heart in her head thundering and loud as the edges of the world start to swim in faint light. She clenches the wound in her neck and clenches her teeth as her hand suddenly warms to burning, searing the wound closed and drying the blood upon it.

She continues her momentum forward, using the reeling sensation in her head as a guide, seeing flashing images of arms, sharp points and other body parts narrowly missing her. She finds herself smiling in a delirious manner as she strikes with her fists, channeling chi into each strike to the chests of the dark beings. Her mind was oxygen deprived, she could sense... but Drunken Style didn't require a lucid mind to operate.

As seconds tick by, she is unable to count the number of strikes she has landed, but realizes she is surrounded by several of the soulless beings. They had gotten bigger if her mind isn't playing tricks on her. Then again, perhaps it is. Drunkenly, she looked to her right and noticed her sword lodged by its tip in the Tendou exterior wall. Reaching out, she clasps the haft and dislodges in a sweeping motion at the creatures trying to hesitantly close their distance around the matriarch.

Her vision is blocked as something large and suffocating engulfs her head, then she feels herself being lifted and thrown... and now she smashes into the ground, pain lancing through every nerve of her body as for the first time in a hundred years she screams in intense agony. Her world is red, its edges bleeding into each other as the great grasp of the Oni unwraps itself from her face. It's distant, cold eyes glimmer in glee at her suffering. It's gaping maw filled with row upon row of razor sharp teeth as it smiles down from its lofty height.

*Then this must be it, to die here in this foreign place, unredeemed and forsaken... if only I could have saved Ranma, perhaps I would have gathered some meaning from all this madness. You've had a long run of it, old woman...* Cologne stares up at the descending maw of the Oni in resignation before a white hot point of light begins to grow at the back of the creatures throat. Without warning, the Oni's head simply explodes.

The blurry figure wavers, its enormous clawed hands seeming to grasp at nothing as it stumbled and then falls backwards. Cologne feels her lids sliding closed, her will forcing them to open again as she looks up at a stone-gray, washed out figure of Memeko Miramoto, her hands casting throwing knives summoned up seemingly from the ether, "Kage-do!" She cries out, her voice retaining a reverberating quality as she seems to almost float from one moment to the next. Shifting her body with a supreme amount of effort she continues watching the girl dance a circle around her. Cologne is unsure if it is the delirium affecting her reality, only that the young woman seems fluid and weightless, even perching and pirouetting up one demons arm then down the other; encouraging the beast to lop its own arm off.

"Cologne! Get your happy ass up, woman!" The elder Miromoto Sibling spits out, sinking an arm into the creatures chest and causing the thing to jolt and stutter like a puppet with its strings tangled before collapsing in a melting heap of shadow stuff. Her hands clap together before she makes several spiritual gestures as focus; the quickly evaporating shadow stuff rises and splits before lancing out in a spiraling motion to sink into the chests of several lumbering Oni, causing them to twitch and spasm before molten holes opened wide upon their bodies, causing them to fall over in even more evaporating shadowstuff.

"..h..how..." Cologne croaks out, coughing hard; her lungs feeling as if they themselves were seething with blood as a spatter ejects from her lips.

Memeko curses under her breath, her green eyes looking down at the youthened Matriarch in consternation, "Get up, Cologne. You can focus your chi and force out the pain for a brief time, you'll burn through it really fast, but get your ass up. I can't keep doing this all day and these jokers keep getting bigger."

*The girl is right*, Cologne Realizes, *I cannot afford to die now, not before knowing-" She closed her eyes, affording her the energy to center herself, feeling her body going cold as she pushed the chi into the chakra point below her navel. For an eternity she dwells, the steady sound of her slowing heart the only sensation and emotion that abided her meditation. Meticulously she gathers the heat in around her to warm herself once more, Her eyes snapping open as the world was suddenly etched in brilliant splendor, colors richer than the deepest love. Her pain was a brief afterthought in the back shelf of her mind, underneath worn memories and discarded notions.

Pressing her hands to the ground, she rights herself, looking up at the Miramoto girl and noting the flickering embers of her chi. The girl herself looked somewhat pale and washed out, even despite the vibrant and intense world her chi-powered body had instilled within her. "You're using their negative chi and infusing it with your own."

Memeko steps into the stance of one of the demons, an open palm thrusting upwards and connecting to the Oni's jaw with a sickening crunching noise. "Like I said, can't keep this up for long, Matriarch. Gimme a hand."

Cologne reaches to grab her blade before she moves to Memeko, positioning her back to the young woman's as she Brandished the edge. She counted the darklings against the Oni, finding that while the number of opponents had decreased, the size of each had substantially increased. "The more we defeat, the stronger they become... the deaths of the lessers are opening up the way for the greaters."

"Or perhaps they realize that sending the small fry through isn't working," Memeko pants Raggedly, beads of sweat rolling down her face as she pops one of the knuckles of her thumbs, throwing several quick jabs and kicks at one of the hulking brutes waving its large, pendulous arms at her.

Cologne leans into a strike, impaling the oni before her as she pushes chi down the blade and pulls the edge up through the demon's middle like butter, the heat of her spirit cauterizing the thing as it falls into two quivering halves. Her eyes dart westward, noting the flashing of a familiar explosion. She catches a brief glance of Happosai, bounding from one beast to the next as he lobs Happodaikarin at the hulking entities. Not too far beyond him are the others, Each working in concert with a partner to keep backs clear of the enemy.

Shampoo and Ming-Mei had paired off, the two girls flashing blade and bonbori through lesser demons while Ukyou and Mousse subdued yet another of the Oni. The Okonomiyaki Chef had several severe contusions and lacerations dotting her body, but she continued fighting. Mousse seemed to have lost some usage of his left arm. "This is bad... we have to end this now before things get worse, so that we can regroup."

"Worse is coming, I'm sure you can guess," Memeko's eyes fluttered as she wavered for a moment causing her brown hair to sway with the movement, her head feeling full of cotton and ice, stumbling and almost falling before she righted herself. "What about the Hiryuu Shoten-ha?"

Cologne shakes her head, wondering how often she might be surprised by this girl's family. Or by the girl herself, "I assume Ranma told you about the maneuver, but it wouldn't work... in this circumstance there are too many of them, it would be hard for one of us to make the spiral."

Memeko blocks a clenched oni fist with her forearm, gritting her teeth as she feels the bone bend but not break before she swings into the Oni's stance again and snaps her fist upwards, bending its elbow the wrong way and causing the creature to groan in rage, "Who said anything about ONE of us, Cologne? If all of us spiral outward to the dividing walls..." She leaps from left to right as the enraged oni attempts to club her to death with its damages appendage, the forearm flailing about with a grotesque crunching noise.

The Matriarch's eyes suddenly twinkle with delight at the idea as a pattern forms in her head, "We can all manage to divide them as we make the spiral... but that's going to cause quite a bang when it goes off."

"Have a better option?" Memeko again sinks her hand into the chest of the Oni as it looms above her, causing the thing to twitter and twitch before she hefted her weight into pushing the thing backwards, stumbling from left to right, "I'm almost out, and I'd rather not die and leave my little one a ridiculously wealthy orphan. Can you imagine what antics she would get up to by herself?"

"I didn't know you were a mother, Miramoto-san," Cologne likewise steps into the stance of the oni, sinking her blade into its chest. It looked at her with a bemused expression before she again channeled her chi into the blade and walked up the demons legs and around its hip, dragging the blade as it began screaming in agony before she completed the circuit and the torso seperated from the lower half, rancid black ichor spurting from the hip-stumps as she landed with its upper body on the ground, her blade impaling its face before it could reach up and grab her.

Memeko managed a bright smile as she thought of her little girl, taking steps back towards Cologne as two more of the Oni advanced. "It would be the other thing I'm good at, besides killing demons."

Cologne managed to laugh, "Naturally," she falls silent, her focus entirely on staving off the demon hordes as her compatriots wind their way towards her.

Memeko herself focuses the last vestiges of her energy upon deflecting and evading the blows, noting that the lesser demons were all but gone, only lumbering oni amassing towards them as she noted the other girls closing the gap.

They fall into a circle, Cologne picking Happosai up and smothering him against her Bosom as she sinks some of her lingering Chi into the shrivelled pervert, "Happi, we're going to need you at full power if we are going to pull this off."

Happosai coos in delight, the warmth of Cologne's youthful bosom invigorating to the old man's vastly depleted stores of pervert energy. He casts his gaze up at Cologne's cool blue eyes, "Not that li'l ol' me's complainin' about a free grope, Cologne-chan," He emphasized his point by squeezing her juicy melons with his wrinkled hands, "But care to explain?"

She placidly ignores Happosai's philandering as she speaks, "We're going to conduct a six point Hiryu-Shotenha, with you as the focus," She closes her eyes, concentrating on her flow of chi; Hyperaware that it is sluggish and waning qui. If she survived this, she wouldn't be in fighting shape for at least a month. Her lips part while her eyes remain closed, every word an effort that worked upon her vastly stretched resources, "Happi, you'll have to tell the others quickly what to do... none of us have much time," She runs her fingers through the wiry gray hairs on either side of the old Master's head as she opens her eyes, looking down at Happosai. "Can I trust you with this, Happi?"

Happosai's eyes flicker with a renewed fervor, "Cologne-chan, if there were ever a time to protect my school from death, this'd be it. Besides, I've dumped too much time into Ranma just to let the ungrateful brat kick it, you can count on that."

Before she speaks again, Happosai leaps from the warmth of her breasts and out onto the battlefield, explosions of smoke and fire following each bounding arc of the tiny man with his telltale cry of, "Happo-daikarin!"

Her eyes search the battlefield, even as one of the Oni thundered towards her, its feet shaking the ground as its pendulous arm swung at her. She leaps upward, just high enough to clear the demons arm with her hand vaulting over the cold, leathery skin. The crushing sound of stone cracking crashed through the air as the demons clawed hand met with the outer dividing wall of the Tendou Dojo. Pebbles fall from its grasping digits as they clutch the crushed stone, preparing to either lob the portion of wall at Cologne or make her into meal with it.

Her eyes narrowed as she kept an eye on the rock as it descended towards her; her lip turned upwards in a small smirk as the demon still grasped the stone. She calmly shifts her feet into a more relaxed stance and extended her hand to meet the rock, her index finger extended, "Bakusai Tenketsu".Her body convulsed as she felt one of the last bits of sustaining chi flow into the rock before the boulder violently exploded.

The Oni roars, it's pain causing her bones to vibrate as she collapses to her knees, coughing as blood pours out of her mouth vomitously. "D-Dammit," She clutches at her ribs, the movement causing the world to shift between black and a grey scale. "I can't- yet-" She felt the Oni fall to the ground, shaking the area around her from its immense weight.

She coughs again, blood pouring down her chin into the cleft of her bosom and dripping from the chest of her kimono. Cologne turns her eyes up to see a figure, her eyes unable to focus as arms take hold of her and lift her.

Matriarch... rest please. We will do what needs doing. The severe tone of Ming-Mei was still audible, even as cologne found herself struggling against losing consciousness.

Struggle, her limbs unresponsive as she fights to control her body. She cannot let it end this way... "-I- I can't... Must... finish..." Warmth, she feels chi flowing into her body to try and help knit some of the injuries. Enough sensation returns to her face that she feels the cold tears upon her cheeks.

Ming-Mei speaks evenly, her words careful, They sent me to protect you, Matriarch. Let me do my job... You taught me what I need to know to help the others, rest now.

Cologne finds no more strength to respond, the strange warmth imparted by Ming-Mei's chi seeming to sap the remainder of her resolve as she closes her eyes, finding slumber taking her.

She tries to struggle, to fend off the reclaiming darkness seizing her broken frame... feeling Ming-Mei set her down upon the cold earth again. All else was broken, disjointed in her struggle. She heard screams of pain, roars of bestial fury from the unearthly creatures assaulting the dojo.

And then, only four voices in the end... crying out with what surely must have been raised fists.

"Hiryu-Shoten-ha!"


End file.
